


Loud Breaths, Long Pauses

by clearwaterchild



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Apartment AU, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearwaterchild/pseuds/clearwaterchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mello's gay. Matt's straight. They've known these things about each other since they were sixteen, and there's never been a problem--not for Matt, anyway. Now, they're almost 22, and a well-intentioned but ill-thought-out kiss sets them up to unravel the assumptions they make about each other, as well as those they make about themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bartender

_Friday, December 2, 2011_

“Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Matt pours two cups from the piece of crap coffee maker on the kitchen counter and brings them over to the coffee table. He puts one cup down in front of Mello and takes a sip of the other before sitting down on the couch.

“How is it?” Mello asks.

Matt shrugs. “Same old. Why?”

Mello frowns and takes a sip of his coffee. “Hm. It was spitting yesterday morning. Guess it’s fine now.”

“We could always get another one. Shitty coffee makers aren’t expensive, plus they’re only supposed to last like a year.” Matt and Mello have had this coffee maker since they were eighteen, and Mello’s turning twenty-two in a week and a half.

Mello runs a hand through the bottom layer of his hair. “Yeah. I could pick one up later today. I’m gonna run some errands.”

“I take it you’re at EMBR tonight then.” Matt tries his coffee again. Hm. Now that Mello’s said something, it does taste a little different. It’s probably just because he expects it to, since Mello just said it was fine, but still Matt sets his cup back down on the coffee table and pushes it ever-so-slightly away.

“It’s Friday, so...yeah.”

Matt checks his phone. So it is. He’s got a ten-to-seven, Monday-through-Saturday shift schedule, so days tend to run together for him. Mello, on the other hand, works Monday through Thursday at the Vons warehouse in town, and on Friday and Saturday nights he tends bar at EMBR, a gay club in the city. He and Matt used to have similar schedules, but Vons cut his hours to part time about six months ago, so he had to find another job. EMBR is kind of a shitty commute, but it pays better than the warehouse. Plus, Matt thinks the change in work environment has been good for Mello. He’s a lot more social than anyone Matt knows, and warehouse work just wasn’t cutting it. Hardly anyone who’s on shift with Mello is anywhere near his age, and some only speak enough English to be distantly friendly anyway. At the club, Mello’s got his fellow bartenders, his regulars, and even the occasional guy who comes by the bar to try and chat him up like he thinks his life is a T-Pain song.

“Oh, by the way, I don’t know if I’ll be coming home tonight.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “Going home with T-Pain?”

“What?”

“Nothing. What errands are you running today?” Matt decides he’s not going to finish his coffee. He stands up, stretches, and takes his cup to the sink.

“We need food, I guess I’m picking up a coffee maker, we’re out of lightbulbs after I changed that one in the bathroom last night, and I wanna get a haircut.”

Ooh, a _haircut_. “So you _are_ going home with T-Pain.”

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mello downs the rest of his coffee and dangles the empty cup in the air by its handle. Prissy bastard.

Matt comes back over to grab Mello’s cup. “Well, okay, not T-Pain, but you’re planning on getting some from _someone_ tonight.” He returns to the kitchen and puts Mello’s cup in the sink beside his own.

“And?”

“And nothing, just. You are.”

“Okay. Glad that’s settled.” Mello grabs a pad of paper and a pen from the coffee table. “Hey while you’re up, wanna check the fridge and tell me what we need?”

“No.” Matt opens the fridge anyway. “Cheese. Probably bread too, and jam...is this jam still good? Looks fine. Scratch the jam. Butter? Butter.” He comes across a bag of wrinkled bell peppers. “Do we eat bell peppers?”

“Cheese, bread, butter...”

Matt continues to rummage through the fridge. “So, who’s the lucky guy? One of your regulars?” He hears the pantry door open behind him.

“Why the sudden interest? You’ve never cared who I sleep with before.” Mello’s voice has an odd tone to it. Matt chalks it up to distortion from the fridge noise. “I’m putting pasta and sauce on the list.” There’s a distinct crinkling sound that Matt recognizes as a chocolate bar being opened.

“Good idea. Oh also, onions. And I dunno, this is the first time you’ve ever _anticipated_ getting laid. Usually you just shoot me a text from EMBR on your break or whenever. Why do we have lettuce in here?” The head of romaine lettuce is sad and wilted. It’s also full, and looks like it hasn’t ever been taken out of its bag.

“For sandwiches. And I’m not _anticipating_ getting laid, like I said I don’t know if I’m coming home or not. Can you check and see if we have whipped cream?” Mello likes to eat whipped cream out of the can. It’s disgusting.

“Well, make a note. We don’t eat lettuce sandwiches.” Matt shakes the whipped cream. Almost empty. “Yeah, put whipped cream on the list. And Rockstar--get the four-pack. And okay, that’s semantics, but the fact that you don’t know must mean you’ve got someone in mind, yeah?”

“Negative on the Rockstar. I’m not gonna let you kill yourself.” Yeah, meaningful words coming from the guy who eats straight whipped cream and thinks that chocolate is a breakfast food. “Oh but check the freezer, we might be low on vodka.”

“Right, so I can’t kill myself with Rockstar, but you can kill yourself with rubbing alcohol.” Matt opens the freezer. “Vodka’s half full. The rum, though...”

“Buy your own damn rum.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Who’s the guy, Mel?” Matt closes the freezer door and leans against it, watching Mello scribble something else on his list. He pulls out his phone to check the time. 8:40. He’s gonna have to leave pretty soon if he wants to catch his bus. “Come on, at least let me know before I go, otherwise I’ll be thinking about it all day.”

Mello’s face takes on a weird expression, but when he turns to face Matt, the expression is gone. “Well, maybe I _want_ \--” he starts to say, then stops, turns back to look inside the pantry, and writes something else down. “Cereal. I forgot to write down cereal. Milk?”

“Maybe you want...?”

Mello rubs the back of his neck. “Never mind. Just this guy who comes in sometimes, once or twice a month.”

“Is he cute?”

“Of course he’s cute. You think I sleep with ugly guys?”

Matt shrugs. He has no idea who Mello sleeps with, since they never talk about it. Mello tends to be pretty private about his guys, which has led Matt to be pretty private about his girls. They even have a rule against bringing lays back to the apartment. This right here, this discussion, is just a special case, since Mello’s got his eye on someone more than twelve hours before that person will be in his presence. “So you think you’ve got a shot with him?”

“Fair chance, yeah.”

“Care to explain?”

Mello rolls his eyes. “I thought you said you had to leave.”

“In due time. I wanna hear about your boo.”

“Ugh.” Mello retreats back to the couch. Matt follows. “He was in last week, came in pretty early. Not many people around to order drinks, so he and I started talking. He kept checking back and flirting when I wasn’t too busy, then around last call he came around again, said ‘See you next Friday,’ and left with his friends.”

Somehow that’s not the story Matt wanted. He’s not sure what type of story he was looking for, but he’s sure it involved either flowers, romance, and copious amounts of chocolate or heavy urban grit and _guns_. Too bad life is realistic. He sighs. “That’s so normal,” he says.

“What were you expecting? Cinderella? Pumpkins, fairy godmothers, guns?”

“I could see you in glass slippers. Also what version of Cinderella has guns?” Mello knows him too well. He could probably smell the guns in Matt’s mind, or something.

“You know, it’s almost nine.”

Shit. Matt stands up and does the standard pat-down. Phone in the front right, keys in the front left, wallet in the back right. Everything’s accounted for. “You start at nine tonight, right?” Maybe he can catch Mello as he’s running out the door.

“Eight-thirty. Club opens at nine.”

“Crap, I never remember. Okay, I gotta run. See you tomorrow, stay safe, use protection, don’t get pregnant.”

“Bye Matt.”

Matt arrives at the bus station ten seconds before the bus pulls up. He’s smooth.

* * *

 

Three hours into his shift, his phone buzzes. Matt does a quick once-around to make sure no supervisor is around, then checks the text.

[2:13 PM] From Mello: _the bartender song._

Matt grins and puts his phone away.

* * *

 

In the early hours of the morning, Matt wakes up to the sound of the door opening. His first instinct is to go back to sleep, but then he remembers that Mello wasn’t planning on being home tonight. He looks at his phone. 3:45 AM, just enough time for Mello to finish his shift and drive back in no traffic.

“Mel?” he calls down the hall. Still fighting off sleep, he sits up, wraps his duvet around himself, and heads into the living room.

Mello’s only turned one lamp on, which is great for Matt’s eyes, and is at the sink pouring himself a glass of water. It doesn’t look like he heard Matt call him. He looks slightly disheveled--from what Matt can see, his hair’s frizzy and the rolled-up sleeves of his black button-up are coming unrolled. Probably just the end result of a six-and-a-half-hour shift at a raucous, humid club, but Matt rarely sees Mello when he comes home from EMBR, so he uses the silence to observe.

After a second, Matt repeats, “Mello?”

“Oh, hey,” Mello says, turning around. He looks tired. “What are you doing up? Don’t you have work tomorrow morning?”

Matt shrugs and the whole duvet moves with his shoulders. “Heard you come in.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be, I wanted to say hi.” Matt’s voice is starting to lose its sleepy, scratchy edge, but he’s still in the process of waking up. He stays at the border between the hallway and the kitchen, leaning against the wall and watching Mello drink his water. “So what happened?”

“What happened what?” Mello makes his way over to the couch. “Come over here and sit down. You look dead.”

“You know.” Matt follows Mello and sits down next to him. “Between you and that guy.”

Mello drums his fingers against the glass. “Nothing really.”

“Well I kind of figured that, since you’re here.”

Mello sighs. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, turning his face away slightly and bringing a hand up to his neck. “He came in early again, we talked, then he disappeared and I didn’t see him for the rest of the night.”

“Talked?”

“Talked.”

“Like, ‘hi how are you nice weather we’re having how’s the family’ talking? Or like, ‘hey baby what size pants do you wear i’d like to try to get in them’ _talking_?” Matt shifts around under the duvet. It’s too warm in the apartment for the modesty covering he’s chosen, and he’s starting to sweat. At the same time, he can’t just take it off, so he’s stuck awkwardly fanning himself with one corner.

Mello snorts quietly and spits a mouthful of water back into his glass. He moves the hand on his neck down to his lap. “Neither. But closer to the latter.”

“And he didn’t even kiss you?”

“No, he didn’t, he didn’t stick around long enough.”

Matt shakes his head. “What a dingleberry.”

Mello chuckles. “Yeah.”

Beat. “So, you have no idea what happened?”

“No clue,” says Mello. “But like I said, it’s not that big of a deal. It happens sometimes.”

Which is a first for Matt to hear, because this is the first time in... _ever_ , really, that they’ve talked about getting laid. Or, in this case, _not_ getting laid. Really the only evidence Matt has that Mello tries is the texts he sends when he succeeds. Now that Matt thinks about it, it makes sense that Mello wouldn’t succeed every time he tried. Matt doesn’t have a perfect track record either. But for some reason, he’s always thought that Mello could have whomever he wanted.

It’s probably just that he’s known Mello since they were thirteen, and now he’s incapable of seeing him through a stranger’s eyes. When Matt looks at Mello, he can’t see any of the reasons why a stranger _wouldn’t_ want him. Mello’s smart--really, really smart--and you can see it in his eyes before he even opens his mouth. They’re like, _sharp_ , his eyes. And intense. Everything about Mello is intense, or maybe Matt remembers Mello’s intense moments most because he likes them best. Something like that. He supposes a schoolteacher or babysitter would say that Mello gets _carried away_. But he likes that about Mello. It’s part of his charm.

Mello’s also really hot, and Matt only says this because he’s been inside EMBR once before (to bring Mello a change of clothes after some classless asshole dumped a vodka Sprite all over him because a standard pour just isn’t good enough for some people. That asshole got himself kicked out), and it’s pretty clear that the place practices severe hiring discrimination. Plus, bartender. That’s got to add hotness points.

“Really,” Matt thinks out loud, “that guy would be dumb to pick some sweaty, club-happy yahoo over you. How could any other guy be hotter than you? I mean, you’re the bartender. What happened to T-Pain?”

Mello looks away really suddenly. “What happened,” he says, still facing away from Matt, “is that song came out like five years ago. Seriously, stop making that reference. It’s dating you.”

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Matt thought he was doing okay at this ‘talking’ thing. Guess he screwed up somewhere.

“Yeah, fine.” Mello still doesn’t turn back.

“You sure?” Matt nudges Mello’s knee with his own. “Come on, did I say something?”

Mello still won’t look at Matt. “Nothing, you didn’t say anything, everything’s fine.” Everything is definitely not fine. But, at least for now, Matt drops the subject. If Mello’s mad at him, this moment will come back in an argument a week or so down the line. Then, Matt will learn what it is he’s done.

“Okay.” Matt fidgets. This duvet is uncomfortably hot, to the point that he’s almost ready to throw it off and display his boxer brief-clad body to Mello. He’s sure Mello would appreciate that. “Well, sorry you didn’t get any tonight. I was really rooting for you.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Night.” Mello hunches over so his elbows are on his knees and starts playing with his water glass again. There’s a little spit ring on top of the water that Matt takes complete credit for.

Matt starts to get up to shuffle back to bed, but something stops him. He turns to look at Mello, who’s resting his weight on his elbows, tapping alternating index fingers against the glass, and staring at the coffee table. His face, mostly in shadow now, seems dragged down by some invisible force; his upper body sags. Every so often he takes a breath that looks too big for his lungs to handle, then slowly lets it out. He looks exhausted.

Matt remembers seeing this look almost nightly, back when they were eighteen and Mello was still trying to make college happen. He got into every college he could afford to apply to. But the money just wasn’t there. Financial aid would cover tuition and textbooks, but that still left rent, food, phone bills, Internet bills, car payments, the list went on. Mello worked 14-hour days to try and save enough up that he could leave, but no matter how hard he worked or how much he saved, it couldn’t be enough. Finally, Mello went back to a normal work schedule. He took a couple classes at the local community college, but with no transfer potential, he couldn’t find the motivation to keep up with the workload of classes that didn’t challenge him enough. The higher education route turned out to be too costly, in terms of money, time, and sanity, so in the end, Mello let it all go. All that’s left of Mello’s former ambition is this look, Matt thinks. Worn out, mussed, and defeated. When Matt sees him like this, it’s like a crushing reminder that the world isn’t fair. Mello deserves so much more than his life can give him.

Matt and Mello look up at the same time, and their eyes lock.

Mello’s gaze snaps back to the coffee table. “Thought you were going to bed,” he says softly. Matt realizes they’ve both been zoning out. Time has been standing still.

He shakes his head, to clear it. “Yeah. Soon. What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing important.” Mello sets his glass down on the coffee table and stands up. “Well even if you’re not going to bed, I am. Good--”

“Mello?”

“Yeah?” Mello turns to face Matt again.

“You really didn’t even get a kiss out of tonight?”

Mello makes a face. “Stop fucking asking that. No, I didn’t. All right? I’m going to bed now.” He starts walking away.

Matt feels the sudden urge to do something that might be really stupid. Or it might be pretty cool, he’s not sure yet. “Mello, wait.” He gives a few steps’ chase and catches Mello by the wrist right before he walks into his room.

Mello whips around again. “Matt, what--”

Their eyes meet, and Mello’s voice trails off. He sinks his back against the wall with a slight thud, and his hair flips up just slightly from the movement. Mello _did_ get a haircut today, Matt notices. From far away it’s almost unnoticeable, but so close up, it’s easy to see--it’s shorter in the back than it is in the front now, and his bangs are more even. It looks good. Mello always looks good. And he tries so hard, all the time, and he deserves the world, or at least…

Matt licks his lips and leans in. “This.”

Mello says, “Oh,” but it’s softer than a breath, and then they’re kissing.

The kiss starts out hesitant, their breaths mingling but their lips barely touching. Mello kisses like it’s his first time, all slow and light and unsure, and even though it’s a little dry, it’s kind of exhilarating to get kissed like it’s new and exciting. Matt thinks that it’s exactly new and exciting, but he can’t imagine that it is for Mello. Maybe he’s just shy. Matt’s never known Mello to be shy, but the thought gives Matt an unexplainable fuzzy feeling, like it’s... _cute_. He matches Mello’s energy, trying to coax him out of his shell. Eventually, Mello starts to open up, but even as they settle into each other, the kiss stays innocent. They’re not making out as much as they are _exploring_ , exchanging heart-poundingly soft little open-mouthed kisses. It’s definitely pretty cool, Matt thinks, and smiles against Mello’s lips.

Mello abruptly breaks the kiss with a cold hand pressed against Matt’s chest. Their eyes meet again, for just a fraction of a second, then Mello looks down and clears his throat.

“Uh. Thanks,” he says, and brings a hand up to rest on the back of his neck.

Uh. Thanks? Was what just happened between them a _favor_? Like a... _pity kiss_? Matt feels uncomfortable thinking about it in that sort of light--he doesn’t want to see Mello as someone who needs, or accepts, the pity of others. It makes Mello look _pathetic_. But on the other hand, Matt’s straight, which means the other interpretation has an equally-discomforting “I was curious and he was there” aspect to it that makes Matt look opportunistic and kind of predatory. And in the end he guesses that yeah, maybe it was a favor. Some sort of consolation for Mello not having the life he wanted, or not getting laid, or something. That doesn’t make it any easier to find an appropriate response. What do you say when you get thanked for a kiss? ‘You’re welcome, _man_ ’? ‘No problem, _bro_ ’?

“Anytime, dude,” is what comes out of his mouth. Shit.

Mello’s eyes go wide and there’s a suddenly-strained moment of silence. “Yeah.”

Regret. Heavy, soul-crushing regret. Why did he say that? Wasn’t he just thinking of all the ways not to say that? ‘Anytime, dude?’ Worse than ‘No problem, bro.’ Much, much worse. “Okay. Uh.”

He really needs to go to bed.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Night.”

“Night.”

Matt returns to his room and collapses on his bed, only bothering to un-bundle himself enough that he’s not sweaty. He’s awkward. But Mello knows that, right? Mello knows that occasionally Matt just says and does dumb shit, and doesn’t mean anything weird or shitty or cryptic by it. He’s got to. Matt hopes Mello doesn’t feel bad about the kiss, or anything that happened afterward. Matt didn’t mean it to be a pity kiss, even though he’s straight.

....Or is he, really. Matt’s just kind of always assumed so, though he imagines that tonight is grounds for a thorough investigation of that assumption. Then he lays his head down on his pillow and realizes that he is too exhausted to investigate much of anything. So, as much as he’d _love_ to obsess over the kiss and everything he said and whether “anytime” meant “you’re welcome” or if it meant “ _any time_ ” and how tonight may have destabilized his presupposed heterosexuality--”the foundation of everything he’s ever believed about himself”--he decides that all that can wait until tomorrow at 7 PM _at least_ , and falls asleep instead.


	2. Strike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Mello's POV. Chapters will alternate between Matt's and Mello's points of view. This chapter is a bit longer than the first. I'm not sure if all the chapters after this will be more similar in length to this one or the first one, but that's the wonder of writing something serially. Also, I think in the future there will be quite a bit more of a wait between chapters, because I'm currently in the middle of a break from school, but I'm about to go on a two-week-long trip, and after that school starts again. In any case, happy new year, happy early birthday to me, here's the chapter!

_Saturday, December 3, 2011_

Mello shuts himself inside his room and shakily clicks the lock on the knob. Disturbances: not welcome. He sits on his bed, puts his head in his hands, rubs at his temples, sighs, gets up, and starts pacing. He should go to bed, he _really_ should go to bed, but he’s shaking too much to be still. He’s got all this weird, nervous, erotic energy keeping him from even sitting down.

What was that? What the hell was that? Mello replays the situation over and over in his mind, from the time he got home until just now. It was all normal, it was all normal until...literally a minute ago. Maybe two minutes, now. Okay, it wasn’t normal that Matt woke up and came out into the living room, or that he asked about Mello’s night, or that he stuck around and sat there in silence while Mello thought about how unfair it was that Matt just got to say crazy flirtatious things and be completely oblivious to their effects. But it was all at least plausible right up until Mello got up. It was all believable until Matt grabbed his hand and pushed him up against the wall and--

 _Kissed_ him. Mello stops pacing for a second and brings a hand to his lips. Matt kissed him. In the dumbest, most humiliating way possible, but Matt kissed him. And not a sweet, soft, innocent kiss either. Mello tried, to his credit, he really tried, to keep it PG, but Matt was ruthless, and now Mello still tastes fire when he licks his lips. If he closes his eyes, he can see how it would have played out if they’d continued--fingers hooked in belt loops, hands everywhere, hitched breaths, closed doors. Matt drawing him in the whole way, burning him to ashes like one of his cigarettes. But as breathtakingly hot as it is to imagine how things could have gone, Mello’s glad he stopped himself before they went any further. A pity kiss is bad enough; he’s not sure he could handle an honest-to-God pity _fuck_.

Especially from Matt, Mello thinks as he resumes pacing. A pity fuck from Matt would be awful for too many reasons--first and foremost because he’s Mello’s roommate. They’re currently five months into a two-year lease, so no matter what happens between them, they’re stuck seeing each other every day for another year and a half. So far, and through the last three years they’ve been living together, they’ve managed to avoid most tension with rules. Conflict caused by action is easy to resolve: just change the action. But conflict caused by thought is impossible to resolve. How could Mello live with a roommate who saw him as a charity case?

And then there’s the fact that they’re best friends. Mello can’t deal with his own best friend looking at him like he’s pathetic. Not that he thinks Matt really sees him as pathetic--Matt better not, for as long as they’ve known each other. But things change between people when sex is involved, and if Mello ever accepted pity sex from Matt, then he’d never be able to look Matt in the eye again. Friends are supposed to be equals. Once one person kneels to the other, it’s over.

And then--and then!--even beyond the scope of the issue at hand is the fact that Mello has a giant stupid crush on Matt. Matt doesn’t know, since Mello goes to great lengths to ensure that he never shows it, but sometimes Matt makes it really hard for Mello not to screw up. Take, for example, two fucking seconds ago. Just the kiss alone was dangerous. Were Mello a less prideful person, he may have given in and ruined everything. It’s not that hard to give up your power when you have a tenuous grasp on it anyway. But if Mello did that, if he ever did that, his friendship with Matt would be over….

Mello lets out the breath he’s been holding. He shouldn’t have to convince himself that sex with Matt is a bad idea. It just _is_ a bad idea, forever and always, under any circumstances. Especially under _these_ circumstances.

Not to mention, that can’t even be where tonight was going. Mello brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck and takes a few deep, controlled breaths. He’s being unreasonable. He needs to calm down. Matt’s straight.

Matt’s straight, and Mello let his feelings get the best of him. The kiss was just a kiss, a well-intentioned consolation gesture from a misguided best friend. It makes no difference that Mello stopped it before it went anywhere, because it had nowhere to go to begin with. Matt probably thought it was what Mello wanted--and, to be honest, he wasn’t entirely wrong. The pity part was humiliating, but the kiss itself was...nice. But that was all it was.

Mello stops pacing and sits back down on his bed, glad to have broken the chain of dumb, obsessive thoughts. He starts unbuttoning his work shirt so he can change into pajamas. Matt’s straight, he reminds himself again, and blocks the kiss out of his mind. It’s past four in the morning, and he’s been up since eight. Time to stop thinking about it and get ready for bed.

When he gets back from brushing his teeth, he’s put it all out of his mind. Accepted it for what it was. All but forgotten it even happened. He pulls back the sheets and slides into bed, hoping for sleep to come easily.

Instead, when he shuts his eyes, he sees Matt’s eyes staring back. He feels the imprint of Matt’s hand on his wrist, the press of the wall against his back, the ghost of Matt’s breath against his lips. Mello remembers the slow slide of Matt’s tongue against his own and the pinch of Matt’s teeth gently teasing at his lower lip, changing the kiss from plausibly chaste to undeniably sexual.

He opens his eyes and sits up, resting his head in his hands. A pity kiss. Does pity really go that far? It can’t possibly. Can it? Pulling his knees up so he’s got something to rest his arms on while he thinks, Mello replays the kiss in his head.

Did he miss something? Is he remembering it wrong? Wasn’t it Matt who made all the moves? Mello tries to think of a place his memory could have screwed up, but everything’s pretty concrete. Matt grabbed his wrist. Matt kissed him. Matt led the kiss. And unless Mello’s memory is _really_ off, Matt coaxed Mello into a deeper kiss, even though Mello tried to avoid it. But Matt’s….

Mello’s got a bad feeling about where this line of thinking leads. And yet, he can’t stop following it. Things don’t add up. Things don’t make sense. He tries to dream up scenarios where he can build off what he knows to be true about Matt and still arrive at what happened tonight, but he comes up pretty empty-handed. It’s not long before a possibility slithers uninvited into his head: maybe his original assumptions are wrong. _Maybe Matt’s not straight_.

Mello immediately rejects the thought. Ever since they were seventeen, Mello’s clung to Matt being straight as one of his main motivations for keeping himself so controlled. It’s no use threatening to destroy a friendship if there’s no hope of building something else in its place. So he tries to ignore how everything lines up, tries to puzzle the situation out in a way that still makes sense if Matt’s straight. But everything else he can think of is too roundabout-complicated to be rational. Whether Mello likes it or not, tonight may have destabilized Matt’s presupposed heterosexuality--the foundation of everything Mello’s ever believed about him--and now one of the pillars holding up Mello’s self-control is crumbling.

 _Ugh_. Mello kicks his feet out and flips onto his stomach. Okay. Finally, he’s made the decision he should’ve made half an hour ago. He’s not going to deal with this right now. He’ll sleep on it, and puzzle everything out later when he’s not so damn tired. He slams his face into the pillow and growls.

Everything will be better tomorrow. He’ll make sure of it.

* * *

 When Mello wakes up, it’s noon, and Matt’s already long gone. That’s just as well, Mello thinks. He needs some time to breathe anyway. He grabs some clothes and heads for the shower.

Saturdays are pretty peaceful now that Mello’s working at EMBR. He generally doesn’t wake up until after Matt leaves for work, so he’s got the apartment to himself for his entire morning routine. Or, afternoon routine. It’s nice to have some time that’s all his own.

While he’s in the middle of the shower, Mello’s phone rings. He grabs it from where it’s buzzing furiously on top of the toilet tank to check the number.

“Shit,” he says when he sees who it is. So much for time to breathe.

He answers while quickly turning the shower off. He’s still got shampoo on the underside of his hair, and bubbles of body wash are popping on his calves, but that can wait.

“Jack,” he greets, rubbing his left calf with his right foot.

“Mello. Glad I caught you. Is now a good time?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. What’s up? Got something for me?”

“Course, would I call you if I didn’t?”

“You never have in the past.” Mello quickly dries his hands and phone on the nearest towel.

Jack’s scratchy laugh comes through as mostly static. “So listen. We got this car here that we gotta have painted.”

“Painting a car, huh.” Most of the jobs Jack lines up for Mello are simple labor jobs, but occasionally he gets one like this.

“Mmhm. We got the equipment, the paint, everything, but we need the manpower. Are you the man for the job?”

“You can’t spare the men for that? Where are the guys who usually take care of that sort of shit?”

“More pressing matters, Mello. We’ve got a lot going on at the moment. So?”

Mello chews his lip. “How long’s it gonna take?”

“Two days, maybe three. The longer we sit on this car, the...well, never mind.”

“I can put in six hours today, but no promises after that. Still want me?”

“I can line up somebody else for the rest of it. We want you for as long as you want us. ‘No one’s better than Mello,’ that’s what the boss says.”

Mello rolls his eyes. “Does he really.”

“No joke, he does.” There’s a brief pause, then, “So uh, I know I bring this up every so often, but I just want you to know that the offer still stands. I could get plenty more _interesting_ jobs lined up for you if you want. You’re a smart kid, Mello, and the boss likes you...we sure could use someone with your brain...”

“Not interested, Jack. I just want the job and the cash.”

“There’s a lot more cash working _with_ us, rather than _for_ us.” Jack’s voice has taken a low tone. He must think it sounds enticing.

Mello’s starting to get uncomfortable with the cold, soapy water dripping down his back. He needs to wrap this up. “Look,” he says, “the way things are now, I don’t have a damn clue what you or your organization do. I plan to keep it that way. So, thanks, but no thanks.”

“Hmm,” says Jack. “Never guessed you for that moral-compass type. Well, I guess we couldn’t use you then. I’ll tell the boss that you--”

“It’s not a moral thing,” Mello interrupts, almost offended. “I have goals, Jack, and I intend to meet them. Getting in with you and your boss won’t help me any. If it would have, believe me, I’d have jumped at the chance when you first asked. Now stop asking.”

Jack gives a little defeated laugh. “All right then. Six hours, we can give you 300. Would’ve been more, but if you can’t put in the work we can’t put out the cash.”

“300 sounds fine.”

“Good. What time will you be in?”

“1, 1:30 maybe.”

“Sounds fine, I’ll be waiting at the garage then. You’ve been there before, right?”

“If it hasn’t changed since last time, yeah.”

“Good. See you soon.” The click from the other end signals the end of the call.

Mello sighs and turns the shower back on.

* * *

 Mello pulls up at the garage a little after 1:30. The first thing he sees when he gets out of his car is Jack approaching him.

“You’re late,” Jack says in a singsong, accusing tone.

Mello makes a show of pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the time. “Well, look at that. So I am. What are you gonna do about it, Jack?”

Jack’s face shows pretty clearly that he’s not going to do anything about it. Instead of responding, though, he just says, “Come around to the side entrance. I’ll show you the car.”

They bypass the big overhead doors at the front of the garage, which are conspicuously closed, and head around to a door on the north side of the building. Jack holds the door open for Mello, and they walk inside. The garage looks almost exactly like it did the last time Mello was here: various car parts in one corner, stuff packed away in cardboard boxes in another corner, car repair and maintenance equipment lining the walls. The one big difference is the light blue, four-door sedan in the middle of the room that’s had its hood, trunk, gas tank lid, license plate, and trim removed and set on a work table a little ways away from the car.

“Some of our guys were in here this morning prepping,” Jack explains. “But once you leave, I’ve got some more outside hands to finish the job. It’s gonna be white, but you won’t get to that part in six hours.”

The sedan looks way more innocuous than Mello was expecting, though once he gives it some thought he guesses organizations that want to keep their operations secret probably don’t go around in flashy cars. Still, it’s a bit of a letdown.

“So, why are you bothering to paint the car, if it’s risky to hold onto it?” Mello asks. Seems to him like too much of a gamble. “Why not just get rid of it?”

Jack grins. “Thought you weren’t interested in knowing what we do.”

Mello grimaces. “I’m not. I’m just...asking for the sake of asking.”

“Well, if you really wanna know, I’ll tell you.”

“That’s okay. So, what’s the first step?”

Jack leads Mello over to a collection of equipment next to the work table. “First, you gotta clean the car and all those parts. Use this.” He gestures at a bright neon yellow bottle of concentrated car wash soap. “You’ll just need a capful in a whole bucket of water, so don’t overdo it.”

“...You’ve hired me to wash a car.”

“And sand it, and mask it, and, if you have time, prime it.”

Mello rolls his eyes.

Jack shrugs. “Hey, you’re the one who can’t put in the hours. If you could swing it, we could have you in tomorrow too to do the actual paint job. I’m sure you’d be much better than the other guys we’ve hired to do it.”

For a split second, Mello considers it. He could put off his plans with Matt until the late evening and come back here. He’s pretty sure Matt wouldn’t mind, plus it would be extra money to put away. Then he remembers how much of a pain it would be to have to make up a story that would explain why he wasn’t free on a Sunday afternoon, and he makes his call.

“Sorry,” he says. “Busy all day.”

“Can’t be helped, then. Sorry, Mello.” Jack tosses a large orange chenille sponge at Mello. “Better get to work.”

Mello pulls his hair into a ponytail and starts working. For all that he’s used to doing manual labor, particularly for this organization, he can’t help but feel stupid washing the car, even though it’s not “washing the car” as much as it is “prepping the paint for sanding.”

Especially not with Jack standing around “supervising,” that asshole. “Gotta say,” said asshole pipes up unhelpfully, “white’s not your color. Also, are those blood stains on your shirt?”

Mello looks at the reddish-purple smudges on his shirt and wonders how anyone could mistake them for blood. “Hair dye,” he says in response.

“You dye your hair?”

Mello narrows his eyes and turns around to look Jack in the face. “Does my hair look red to you?”

Jack raises his hands palms-forward. “Hey, I’ve never dyed my hair, I don’t know what dye looks like.”

Mello goes back to scrubbing the car. It’s going to be so fucking clean. And in a few minutes, he’s going to sand it so fucking hard. “My roommate dyes his.”

“That his shirt, then?”

Instead of responding, Mello moves from the body of the car to the pieces on the work table. After a few moments, Jack stops hovering and goes to do something else in another part of the garage.

After that, the work gets easier to deal with. Mello finishes up cleaning the car and moves on to sanding, starting at the work table. He falls into a comfortable rhythm about halfway through the hood, and the slow, methodical work proves to be a great backdrop to his thoughts. He can even ignore Jack watching from the corner, and it’s as though he’s gotten back the time to himself that he lost this morning. Afternoon.

Mello’s thoughts briefly wander to the new coffee maker that’s still sitting in its box in the living room. Somehow, Matt didn’t manage to set it up last night or this morning. Mello’s got the feeling that he’s going to have to set it up himself, which is frustrating since Matt was the one who wanted it in the first place, but it’s just par for the course. Matt does frustrating things all the time.

Which leads Mello to last night. After sleeping on it, he’s not the mess of emotions he was right after it happened, but he’s still a little overwhelmed. Matt kissed him. Matt might not be straight. How strange.

How terrifying.

There’s a part of Mello that still doesn’t want to believe that that possibility exists. That part of him thinks it’s too dangerous. Sure, taking cash-in-hand jobs from shady organizations is one thing, that part says, but admitting that his best friend--his crush-- _could_ be attracted to guys is too risky. That latter one is hope.

They’re both hope, he supposes. They’re both dangerous hope. But in the former case, it’s a hope he’s been holding on to for years. He’s been tested, time and again, and he’s pulled through. And he’s learned that if he doesn’t manage to put away enough money in the end, he’ll be fine. Honestly, if all else fails, he can just take Jack up on his offer and join his organization...whoever they are, and whatever they do. It’s a path he could carve out for himself, even if it’s not the one he wants. He’s sure he could tell Matt eventually. Hell, Matt’s smart, too. Maybe they both could join.

The other case is...well, it’s just riskier. It’s a hope that Mello stamped out a long time ago and has kept from reigniting with one simple, fundamental belief. Now that that belief’s being tested, Mello’s not sure how he’ll respond if he lets his hope come back.

He hates to admit it, but he’s curious to find out. Must be the hope talking already.

The garage suddenly smells like gasoline. Mello wonders, for a split second, how he would react if Matt turned out to be bi and chose to spend his life with another guy. Then he realizes how dumb the thought is--Matt? Settling down? With anyone? Ever?--and puts it out of his mind. Mello doesn’t think Matt’s dated anyone in his life, save a couple month-long stints in high school. And plus, no matter who Matt decides to date, how long they’re together, how much they love each other, they still won’t have that bond--

“Hey, hey!” Jack interrupts, setting a container of gasoline down to hurry over to Mello. “Don’t strip it down to bare metal, you’re just trying to sand it down a little!”

Mello looks down. He’s been sanding the same spot for too long, and he’s gone through almost all the paint. “Sorry,” he says, and puts a little more of his attention toward his work.

He gets the whole car sanded and masked by the time he’s got to leave for his shift at EMBR. Three hundred dollars safely in his pocket, he prepares to get going. He changes in the car, checking his face in the rearview mirror. He’s still got his hair in a ponytail, he realizes upon seeing his reflection. At EMBR, he only ever wears it down. Taking the ponytail out would leave a weird kink in his hair though, and he definitely doesn’t have time to go back home and shower, so he decides to leave it the way it is. Maybe the “I clearly have no idea what to do with my hair today” look is sexy, he thinks, rolling his eyes at his own thought.

* * *

 His shift passes uneventfully, though it’s slow for a Saturday night, which affects his tips. Mello blames the ponytail. After last call, he and Rafaela, who’s on shift with him, close up the bar quickly, so they can go home a few minutes early.

It’s around 3:30 when Mello gets home. He opens the door quietly, expecting Matt to be asleep, but when he comes in, all the lights are on and Matt’s laying on the couch, his weirdo goggles over his eyes, playing something on his 3DS. There’s an empty Rockstar can laying on its side on the coffee table.

The new coffee maker still has not been taken out of its box. Mello knew it.

“Thanks for the Rockstar,” Matt says. “How was your shift?”

“Slow,” Mello responds, and goes to the fridge. He pulls out the nearly-empty can of whipped cream, gives it a few shakes, and sprays the rest into his mouth.

“Gross,” Matt says.

“Bite me,” says Mello through a mouthful of whipped cream. He turns around just in time to see Matt waving a middle finger in the air. He swallows. “Yeah, fuck you too.” He pulls open the pantry door and grabs a chocolate bar off the candy shelf.

“So, why are you still up?” Mello asks, coming to sit down on the couch. “Move your legs,” he adds, swatting at Matt’s knees.

Matt pulls his legs up so his knees are bent. Mello sits on his feet. “I dunno. Just kinda...waiting for you, I guess.”

At that, Mello’s gaze snaps to Matt’s face, then immediately returns to the floor. He shifts a little so he’s not sitting on Matt’s feet anymore. Matt never waits up for him. “Why? I’m just gonna go to bed.”

Matt looks up for a second, then goes back to his game. “Haven’t seen you all day.”

“You never see me on Saturdays,” Mello presses.

Matt nudges Mello with his foot. “Well, yeah,” he says in a soft tone.

“You see me all the time every other day.” Mello snaps off a bite of chocolate and turns to look at Matt. His head is cocked to one side, the tip of his tongue is just poking out from between his teeth, and his fingers are flying over the buttons of the 3DS. “Also, if you stayed up to see me, you might as well pay attention to me.”

Matt curls his toes. “I’m paying attention to you. I’m just also paying attention to this.” He curls his toes harder. “Whoa, shit. Ah. Fuck.” Matt makes a face and turns off the game. “Okay, I guess you’re right.” He sets the 3DS on the coffee table next to the can, then he takes his goggles off and drops them on the floor.

Mello takes another bite of chocolate. “So, you never answered my question. Also, I can’t see you, your knees are in the way.”

Instead of sitting up, Matt drops his right foot to the floor and hoists his left leg over the back of the couch. He shrugs. “Happy?”

Mello doesn’t stare. “Elated.”

“That was a good deadpan, I’m impressed.”

Mello moves in a little closer. To hear Matt better, Matt’s been mumbling. “So.”

There’s a beat of silence. Matt’s gaze flits away for a second, then flits back. “So, about last night.”

About last night. Mello feels his heart speed up. “Yeah?”

“Well. Uh.”

Mello waits.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says.

Mello’s heart sinks. He feels like he’s suspended high in the air, ready to drop at Matt’s next words. He leans away from Matt, just a little, and tilts his chin up. “For?”

“I’m sorry if it felt like I kissed you out of pity, or as a favor, or something. I don’t know. I hope you don’t feel bad about it.”

“What?” Now Mello’s confused. His heart is still racing, he still feels a creeping sense of dread, but now...he doesn’t know where this conversation is going. He looks over at Matt.

Matt chews his lip. “Is that...not what you meant? You, uh. You thanked me. It was weird.”

“Oh.” Mello feels his face get hot. “Uh. Yeah. I mean, it _was_ , wasn’t it? A favor.”

“Kinda.” Matt shrugs. “But I wanted to.” He flashes a little sheepish smile. “I liked it.”

“You…” Liked it? Mello kind of assumed that was a given, since Matt’s the one who...but okay. That’s not an invalid thing for him to say, it’s just confusing as shit. They experienced the same kiss, right? “Okay.”

Matt adjusts his position. Mello doesn’t stare. “I guess what I’m saying is I’m not averse to doing it again, as not a favor.”

“...Oh.” No. No, no, no. _No_. Mello will not have his resolve shaken again. The only way he’s going to kiss Matt again--the only way he’s even going to _consider_ it--is if he figures this situation out. Right now, there are too many unknowns. Matt could still be straight, he tells himself. Matt could just be experimenting. Matt could be trying to cover his ass and placate Mello about last night. Matt thought it needed to be said that he enjoyed the kiss. One wrong move, and he could lose Matt forever. Mello will _not_ kiss Matt again tonight.

“...So?” Matt draws Mello’s attention back. He looks far too comfortable sprawled out like that, and he’s got a little lopsided grin on his stupid dumb face, like he knows exactly how adorably attractive he is. His hair is mostly sticking up, but it’s flattened in a little ring where the strap of the goggles pressed it down. It’s grown out since the last time he dyed it, and his roots are getting long. He should probably dye it again soon.

“I wore your shirt today,” Mello says stupidly.

Matt chuckles, and Mello swears he can smell a lit match. Then Mello’s moving, shit, he’s crawling over, what is he _doing_ , he’s _between Matt’s legs_ , and Matt breathes out another laugh and grabs at Mello’s collar and now Mello’s leaning in and fuck god _damn_ it Matt.

Their lips meet. It _burns_. Matt’s mouth is hot and intense, and Mello swears his lips will have blisters after this. Mello doesn’t hold back this time, and now it’s his tongue slipping into Matt’s slightly open mouth, his teeth grazing Matt’s bottom lip. This is bad, Mello thinks. He has to hold himself together, but it’s so _hard_ when Matt makes him want to douse himself with gasoline and set himself on fucking fire.

Matt breaks the kiss to murmur, “I like the ponytail,” and then promptly rip it out. Mello’s breath catches when Matt runs his fingers through his newly freed hair, then pulls him in for another kiss.

Mello’s hyper-aware of his body, places he is and isn’t touching Matt. He wants as much contact as possible, but he still knows to be _careful_. He runs a hand down Matt’s side and tucks his ring finger into one of the belt loops on the front of Matt’s jeans. He lets his other fingers play with the top of Matt’s waistband. His thumb drops down just lower, skimming the dark denim covering the zipper. Maybe not...too careful….

Matt breaks the kiss again and looks Mello in the eyes. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” Mello leans in again but Matt turns his head away.

“I, um, think I should go to bed.”

“Uh.” Mello removes his hand from Matt’s jeans, feeling stupid. His cheeks heat up. He feels Matt trying to meet his eyes but keeps his head turned away. “Yeah, sure.” He gets off Matt and stays seated on the couch while Matt sits up.

“Mel?” Matt’s hand finds Mello’s thigh. “Everything okay?”

Mello takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Everything’s fine,” he says.

There’s a moment where Mello thinks Matt is going to get up and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he asks again, “Mello?”

“Yeah?”

“I did like that. It was just...a little fast. Or something. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Mello repeats. He can’t seem to manage a response that doesn’t have “yeah” in it. He should go to bed too.

Matt does get up this time, murmuring a “good night” as he disappears down the hall and leaves Mello alone in the living room. Mello sighs and scratches at the back of his neck. He told himself. He told himself that he wasn’t going to kiss Matt again, and now he’s done it, and look where it’s leaving him. It’s a bad idea, he reminds himself for hopefully the last time. He needs more of a handle on the situation--on himself--before he can even think about it. He should know that by now.

Defeated, humiliated, and disappointed in himself, Mello turns off the lights and heads to bed.

 


	3. Birthday Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's given kudos and comments so far! Here's Chapter 3, a little late. I'm going to try to stick to an update schedule of one chapter per month, for future reference. Happy almost Valentine's Day, and enjoy!

_Sunday, December 4, 2011_

Matt could laugh. He could cry. He could do both things at once and juggle rings while wearing clown makeup, as long as he didn’t have to open his mouth and say words. Tonight...did not go as planned.

How can he be this awkward? Even further, how could he be this awkward two times in as many nights?

“Just twenty-four hours after ‘Anytime, dude,’ comes the thrilling sequel, ‘I think I should go to bed,’” Matt mutters to himself as he kicks off his pants in preparation for bed. “Great.”

He takes off his shirt and tosses it in the general direction of his laundry pile--it lands on his keyboard in the corner then slides down onto the stool he’s been using as a piano bench--then crawls under the duvet and pulls it over his head. He lies there motionless for a while, letting his thoughts run.

Most of them are about irony. Tonight was supposed to be a re-do of last night, in a way. Matt hoped that a no-strings-attached kiss would take away from the awkwardness that last night’s “favor” was, but then tonight ended up being even worse. Go figure, right?

He even tried to be all suave and cool, but then he had an emotion and words came out of his face-hole and maybe he’s just too awkward to function. That’s got to be it.

“Awkward” doesn’t sound like a word in Matt’s head anymore. He groans.

Mello seemed pretty thrown by it, too. Matt feels bad about that. He doesn’t want to make Mello uncomfortable--that was, in fact, the exact opposite of tonight’s goal--and he hopes Mello knows that his intentions were wildly different from the outcome.

But he can’t do much other than hope, right now. It won’t do him any good to keep worrying about it, so Matt turns over, pokes his head back out from the duvet, and clears his mind so he can fall asleep.

* * *

Mello’s not around when Matt wakes up. The new coffee maker is, though. It’s set up all nice and shiny on the counter where the old one used to be, but it doesn’t look like it’s been used yet. Kind of odd, but then again much weirder things have happened. In this apartment. Recently.

Matt starts making coffee. He hopes Mello didn’t forget about their plans today. It’s movie night.

Well, it’s movie afternoon. But they have four movies to get through, and they both have work tomorrow morning, so they’re starting in the afternoon so that it won’t be too late when they finish. It will definitely be night when they finish, though, so Matt’s calling it movie night and no one can stop him because he is an adult.

Matt goes to the pantry to find something to eat. While he’s there, he checks the candy shelf to make sure they have appropriate movie night nourishment. They do not. The candy shelf is pretty barren, populated only by a couple of chocolate bars and a lone bag of Skittles. It’s pretty disappointing, Matt thinks as he grabs a new box of cereal from another shelf.

He pours himself a bowl of cereal and eats it at the kitchen counter while waiting for his coffee to finish brewing. Once it’s done, he pours himself a cup and takes it and the cereal over to the coffee table.

They need movie night snacks, he thinks as he chews. They won’t survive four So Bad It’s Good movies without their body weight in junk food to carry them through. This means a grocery store run is in order, which is stupid because Mello just went shopping the other day, but it’s all right. Mello just doesn’t get it.

Speaking of Mello, he’s out right now. Maybe he can pick stuff up on his way back. Matt pulls his phone out and starts to text him.

[12:32 PM] To Mello: _hey dude where are you_

[12:32 PM] To Mello: _we need snacks for today can you pick stuff up_

[12:33 PM] To Mello: _we have skittles and chocolate but we need everything else_

Then he goes back to eating his cereal. A little more than ten minutes later, his phone buzzes.

[12:45 PM] From Mello: _out on a run. take the car._

Matt sighs. Life is just _so hard_ sometimes. He finishes the last dregs of his coffee, shoves his phone back in his pocket, then stands up and pats himself down. All his possessions accounted for, he grabs the car keys from the bowl on the counter and heads down to the parking garage.

Matt gets back to the apartment a little while after Mello gets back from his run, and he picks the movie order, sets up the snacks, and orders a pizza while Mello’s in the shower. 

Movie night begins with _Showgirls_ , a classic. Mello and Matt start out next to each other in the middle of the couch, but over the course of the movie they drift apart to opposite ends, Mello practically hugging the armrest. It feels a little weird, but Matt’s fine with it as long as Mello doesn’t stop making fun of the movies.

Mello does not stop making fun of the movies.

“Man, everybody got AIDS and shit,” he quotes once _Showgirls_ is over.  
“This isn’t champagne. This...is _holy water_!” Matt responds in kind through a mouthful of Meat Lovers, flicking imaginary champagne at Mello. He realizes that champagne droplets wouldn’t reach Mello from this distance, and he wants to get closer.

“Hey Mel,” he says, “scoot this way. I gotta sprinkle you with this holy water.” He dips his fingers into an imaginary champagne flute.

Mello rolls his eyes but moves within range. Matt flicks.

“ _Holy water_ ,” he whispers.

“Jesus.” Mello grabs a handful of popcorn out of the big bowl on the coffee table and goes back to his chosen spot on the far end of the couch. Again, a little weird, but whatever.

Matt finishes his slice of pizza and gets up to put on _The Room_.

They stay in their chosen seating positions for the whole movie night. Mello only ventures into the middle of the couch to ruin his run with junk food. Occasionally, Matt thinks he catches Mello staring, but Mello never says anything so Matt shrugs it off.

And in the end, they decide that _Showgirls_ , _The Room_ , and _Batman & Robin_ fall into the So Bad It’s Good category, while _Birdemic: Shock and Terror_ is just so bad it’s unwatchable. They, of course, watch it anyway, because Matt is not a weak baby and he will not let Mello be one either (though admittedly, their resolve is bolstered by a little bit of rum and quite a bit of vodka). By the time they finish their marathon, it’s 1AM, and since both of them have work in the morning, they each drink some water and then crash hard.

Throughout the rest of the week, they barely see each other, which is a little disappointing but not too unusual. Mello tends to spend his free time out of the apartment, doing Mello things, and Matt likes having the place to himself to play games, dick around on his keyboard, make some mixes, do whatever. It’s a little weird that every morning, Mello’s gone before Matt gets up--they usually do morning coffee--but Mello’s a busy guy. Matt shrugs it off and doesn’t worry too much about it. He’s got his own plans to worry about.

* * *

_Sunday, December 11, 2011_

It’s two days before Mello’s birthday, which means Matt’s cutting it a little close, but he’s done this before and it’s been fine. He’s already taken care of Mello’s present, which takes a pretty sizeable load off of today. So now he’s got the whole day to prepare, and if he needs to pick some stuff up tomorrow or Tuesday before work, he’ll wake up as early as is necessary. Twenty-two is important, it’s like. Two twice. The terrible twenty-twos. It deserves a celebration worthy of its importance. Just like twenty-one did, and twenty, and nineteen....

Matt grins like an idiot as he walks into the party store. He’s been doing this since Mello’s fourteenth birthday, and it’s never gotten old. Maybe it was a little more special back when he had to save up for the occasion, but it’s never going to be any less hilarious.

The first stop is party hats. Mello hates those most.

The shelf is stocked full of great hats, all with their merits, but Matt’s eye lands on a set of Thomas the Tank Engine themed ones. Terrible twenty-twos is a pretty great theme, he thinks. Perhaps he should plan the entire shebang around trains. Mello seems like the kind of person who really liked trains as a kid, right?

 _Sure, why not_ , says the part of Matt’s brain that really loves bad ideas. He grabs the Thomas hats and heads to another aisle to look for other things.

As Matt is debating whether to put two “2” candles or twenty-two straight candles on Mello’s cake, it suddenly occurs to him that Mello has been pretty scarce lately. He hopes Mello won’t decide he’s too busy to show up for his own birthday.

But Mello wouldn’t do that. He knows Matt works hard on these stupid parties, and as much as he claims to hate them, he’s never missed one before, no matter what he’s been busy with.

Come to think of it, why _is_ Mello so busy? He hasn’t said anything recently about taking more shifts at Vons, starting any new projects, anything. He just sort of abruptly stopped being around. It’s odd. It’s not like Matt and Mello constantly exchange details about their schedules, but Matt’s a little weirded out that he didn’t know Mello was going to have such a big change. 

Matt puts both types of candles in the basket. He can decide on one or the other--or both--later. He shouldn’t waste time standing around staring at candles when he still has to get streamers, silly string, a banner, and everything else he needs.

Mello-related thoughts bounce around in the back of his mind the whole time he’s in the party store. Matt thinks back to when Mello started being so busy and tries to remember if Mello mentioned anything offhand, or made any sort of comment, but he comes up with nothing. Mello didn’t tell him.

Mello hasn’t told him anything since, either, and it’s been about a week since this started.

Actually, Matt realizes suddenly, it’s been exactly a week since this started. Last Sunday, they had movie night, and then the next day, Mello was gone when Matt woke up. Huh. Interesting.

So then, he thinks as he examines a roll of blue crepe streamers, maybe something happened on Sunday that made Mello not _want_ to be around the apartment anymore. But what?

 _No, wait_. Mello was acting kind of weird on Sunday, too. He was sort of...keeping his distance from Matt.

Is Mello avoiding him?

Now that Matt thinks about it, it makes sense, sort of. At least, it makes sense that Mello wouldn’t tell him he was going to be out so much. What doesn’t make sense is _why_. Matt can only imagine that it was the kiss, but he didn’t think he was _that_ awkward. Then again, he never squared that thought away with Mello--he completely intended to, but then Mello wasn’t around, and then he forgot--so maybe he was. But he’s still skeptical that that’s the only thing going on.

But he can puzzle things out later. Today, he really needs to put all his brainpower into planning the best twenty-second birthday ever for Mello. It’s a bit more of a struggle than he was expecting, but Matt manages to push the thoughts down. All his efforts focused where they should be, Matt pays for his stuff and heads back to the car.

After the party store, it’s cake time. Matt’s been thinking about it, and he’s decided that he wants to get an ice cream cake. It goes with the theme--what terrible, train-loving two-year-old doesn’t want an ice cream cake? Plus, it’ll be easier to find a cake with blue stuff on it at a Baskin-Robbins than at a grocery store, and an ice cream cake with blue stuff on it will not suck the way a grocery store one will.

And then there’s the fact that Matt really, really wants an ice cream cake.

Truly it’s the only logical decision, so Matt heads to Baskin-Robbins. He’s already in Arcadia for the party supplies, so he heads to the one off of Baldwin instead of driving back to El Monte. The owner of the El Monte Baskin-Robbins is a giant dick anyway, so it works out better like this.

What doesn’t work out so well is the drive there. With mindless EDM playing through the car’s speakers and no really pressing party matters to think about, Matt’s mind drifts back to the Mello situation. It’s not like that’s a bad thing, but it’s not what Matt wants to think about right now, particularly because his thoughts have taken a bit of an introspective turn:

Does what he’s been doing with Mello count as “experimentation”?

It’s sort of an odd thought to have, Matt thinks, because he didn’t see it that way when things were happening. He didn’t kiss Mello to “test his sexuality” or anything, he just did it because it seemed like a good idea at the time. But he can see how, from the outside, it could look like he’s been experimenting with Mello.

Actually, if he’s honest with himself, it’s starting to look that way from the inside, too. Matt still doesn’t know if he’s straight or not. And he can’t deny that at least _some_ part of that second kiss was driven by curiosity. He’s beginning to recognize that in pursuing the satisfaction of that curiosity, he’s created a situation that’s unfair to Mello.

...And that’s probably a good reason for Mello to be avoiding him.

“Shit,” Matt says to himself. For a brief moment, he wonders if Mello’s mad at him, but then he realizes: if Mello were mad at him, he wouldn’t have to guess. He’d know. That at least makes Matt feel a little better, but he’s still kicking himself. Mello’s unhappy and it’s his fault.

Matt pulls into the parking lot and sits there for a second with the engine turned off but the music still playing. He can’t un-experiment, so he’ll just have to make up for it in some way. So he comes up with a two-step game plan.

Step one: stop kissing Mello.

Step two: blow Mello’s mind with this party. 

Matt’s sure--he is absolutely one hundred percent certain--that if the sheer ridiculousness of the party alone doesn’t put Mello in better spirits, the present will. It’s just mushy enough to do the trick. Really, this birthday is just what Matt needs to clear the air between him and Mello.

Feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, Matt turns the car all the way off and heads into Baskin-Robbins.

* * *

_Tuesday, December 13, 2011_

“God _fucking_ damn it, Matt.” Mello stands in the doorway, gazing incredulously upon the spread before him. Matt knows he’s impressed. And he should be. Matt spent a lot of time on decorations.

Every year on this day, Matt fakes sick at work so he can leave a few hours early. Then he spends the time until Mello gets home setting up the living room. This year, though, Matt called in and took the whole day off. The result is positively beautiful.

“I can’t fucking believe you did this _again_ ,” Mello lies through his teeth. He’s been coming home late for the last week, and today he’s back right after work. Of _course_ he knew Matt was going to do something.

This is also evidence that Mello isn’t _that_ upset with him, since he came home for the party.

“It’s pretty sweet, huh,” Matt says around the party horn that’s still in his mouth, gesturing at the ceiling full of blue and red streamers. The table is cleared, the hats are stacked neatly at Mello’s spot, there’s a goddamned _display_ of silly string, and everything is perfect. “Happy birthday, Mello. Welcome to your terrible twenty-twos.”

“Terrible twenty…” Mello still hasn’t come all the way inside.

Matt takes him by the elbow and leads him into the living room. “Do you love it?”

“Terrible twenty-twos?”

Matt just grins in response.

Mello collapses onto the couch and hangs his head in his hands. “ _Please_ tell me those aren’t Thomas the Tank Engine party hats.”

Again, Matt just grins. This is going spectacularly well, he thinks.

“You’re going to make me wear a Thomas the Tank Engine party hat on my twenty-second birthday,” Mello moans. “Mother of fuck, Matt.”

Matt brings two hats over. He dons one and holds the other out to Mello. Mello begrudgingly puts his hat on, swearing under his breath the entire time.

“Aw, come on, Mel,” Matt says. “It’s not _that_ bad. You haven’t even seen the cake yet.”

“Oh, Jesus, there’s a cake?”

“Don’t play dumb. There’s always a cake.”

Mello shakes his head. “Okay. Bring it out. Just bring it out.”

Matt willingly complies. He goes to the kitchen and opens the freezer, and Mello groans.

“Everything okay over there?” Matt asks.

“It’s an ice cream cake.”

“That’s a true statement.” Matt opens the box and shows Mello the cake, in all its glory. It’s got white icing with blue trim and has “Happy 22nd Birthday Mello! <3” written on it in blue icing. But the best part is the Thomas figurine that Matt’s stuck across the top left-hand corner. It’s Matt’s favorite part of this entire setup, and, from the looks of it, it’s Mello’s least favorite part.

“Do you _have_ to--” Mello starts, then makes a face and stops.

“Do I have to…?”

Mello shakes his head again and sighs. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it, Matt.”

So Matt doesn’t worry about it. He thinks the party has been working its magic, since Mello’s been acting more or less normally since he got home. He even cracked a smile when he thought Matt wasn’t looking.

They have train cake and champagne for dinner, sticking their forks directly into the cake and passing the bottle back and forth. As they get more buzzed, conversation flows like water--or rather, like champagne. Matt feels all glowy and at ease, and it’s only partially because of the alcohol. His and Mello’s dynamic seems to have gone back to normal, and it feels good. Reassuring. Matt was afraid, for a while today, that Mello was really upset, and that things would change between them. 

Matt doesn’t want things to change between them. He likes things the way they are. 

“Oh,” he interrupts himself mid-sentence, “that reminds me.” He still hasn’t given Mello his present.

“What reminds you?” Mello asks. “Reminds you of what?”

Instead of responding, Matt just hurries to his room. He digs around under a pile of clothes until he finds his headphones, then grabs his laptop and quickly makes sure everything’s in order.

“Matt!” Mello calls.

“Coming, coming.” Matt comes back to the table and moves all the party stuff out of the way with his elbow before setting the laptop down in front of Mello. “Got you a present.”

Mello looks perplexed.

“Rather,” Matt amends, “I made you one. Put those on.”

Mello frowns. “You made me a…?”

Matt opens a file titled formello.wav and immediately pauses it. “Come on, dude, put the headphones on.”

Mello snickers. “You wrote me a song? That’s so gay.”

“ _You’re_ gay,” Matt retorts maturely.

Mello puts the headphones on. “Shut up.”

Matt plays the song.

Matt’s never been sure if Mello actually likes his music, or if he just tolerates it because he knows Matt really likes it, but he figured that either way this would at least be a touching, personal gesture. The song is mostly electronica with piano accompaniment, Matt's usual style, though it's a bit heavier than the stuff he usually composes. It starts off with a loud, hard, disciplined piano intro that reminds Matt of heavy boots clicking against a hardwood floor.

For the entirety of the intro, Mello doesn’t react. Matt watches his eyes carefully for a sign of emotion, good or bad, but his gaze stays locked on the laptop screen, and his face is more or less blank.

The beat starts to come in, all low and gritty. An indecipherable expression slides over Mello’s face.

“You wrote me a song,” he murmurs, so quietly he probably can’t even hear himself say it with the headphones on.

Mello’s eyes dart around the room, hitting the streamers on the ceiling, the empty bottle of champagne on the table, the shoe rack by the door, the “Happy Birthday” banner on the wall. His face still has that expression on it--eyes wide and focused, mouth slack, eyebrows slightly furrowed. He looks like he’s searching for something, almost.

The song swells and starts to pick up pace. Matt wrote the climax with a car chase in mind, though he’s not sure why it reminds him of Mello. It’s probably because they’re both so intense. Matt could see Mello in a car chase. Not in the shitty car they have, but on a motorcycle, maybe. Maybe in a movie or something. Maybe Matt could tag along.

Matt smiles, slow and content, as he watches Mello react to the end of the song. Mello’s breathing has changed--it’s coming quicker, lighter now. Matt feels the warm glow of accomplishment.

The song ends. Mello looks Matt right in the eyes.

“Matt…” he says. His eyes are still wide, still searching.

He takes the headphones off.

It feels like the air has thinned in the room. Matt feels his own breath start to speed up as Mello stands up. He has the sudden realization that he may have completely misjudged the situation. He has to have fucked up somewhere in his logic, because Mello’s eyes areflashing as he takes a shaky step toward Matt.

It then occurs to him that this moment, taken out of the context he’s framed it in, is almost undisputably... _romantic_.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Oh, no.

Matt doesn’t know if he wants this. He doesn’t know if it’s right. For fuck’s sake, he still doesn’t know how he feels, what he feels, _if_ he feels. 

And even if he was wrong earlier about Mello avoiding him, he wasn’t wrong about the situation not being fair to Mello. He wasn’t wrong about things changing between them. He doesn’t want to hurt Mello.

His conflict must show on his face, because Mello stops, mere inches away, and just stands there, still looking Matt in the eyes. 

Silence.

Matt has to say something. He has to. They can’t just keep staring at each other forever, in stasis. But what to say? 

Mello looks away, takes a step back, and brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. His face is red all the way up to his ears. Matt feels his heart race as he struggles to come up with a way to save the situation. This isn’t what he wanted, he thinks on repeat.

This is awkward. This is so, so, _so_ awkward, and Matt hasn’t even said anything. How does he manage to do that, all the time?

Mello looks really unhappy. Matt’s mind goes back to irony. He put so much into making sure that he and Mello could go back to normal. But it feels like everything between him and Mello is about to change for the worse, not despite his best efforts, but because of them.

“Mello, listen,” he starts, and gets so caught up in the fact that this is happening because Mello _did_ listen--haha, isn’t it funny--that he doesn’t continue.

“It’s okay,” Mello says in a choked voice, “I’ll just-- I shouldn’t have--”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Matt says. “You weren’t wrong-- I mean, you weren’t all the way wrong-- I mean, I _do_ \--I _did_ \--want to, I just...don’t know….”

Mello tightens his grip on his neck. “No. I shouldn’t have done anything. I know better, I _fucking_ \--”

“I just don’t want things to change between us,” Matt blurts out. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

There’s a long pause that drags on. Mello’s face goes through a bunch of expressions before settling on _angry_. “Oh,” he says, his voice suddenly sharp, “ _you_ don’t want-- Do you know how long I-- God fucking...I can’t fucking take this anymore, Matt. Don’t wait up.” And within seconds, Mello’s out of the apartment, the door slamming behind him.

Matt sits down and stares at his laptop screen without really seeing it. He feels like shit. Mello’s upset--he’s really upset--and it’s all Matt’s fault. Again. Matt gets the feeling that he’s fucked up worse than he ever has, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even know what he said this time. He guesses it doesn’t matter though, because even if he knew, Mello would still be gone.

* * *

Not ten minutes after Mello leaves, Matt gets a call. He checks the caller ID and considers ignoring it, but his better judgment tells him to answer, if only for courtesy’s sake.

“Hey, Near.”

“Hello, Matt.” Near’s voice is surprisingly clear for how late it is on the east coast. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

“Sorry, man, not a good time to catch up.”

“Okay. I’ll make this brief then. Please let Mello know that my offer still stands.”

“Uh.” What? Matt wasn’t aware that Near ever made Mello any offer. In fact, he didn’t think Mello and Near had even talked since high school. “I don’t know what that means. And I don’t know if I can do that.”

“He knows what it means,” Near replies, offering no explanation. “And do what you can.”

Matt sighs. Why does everyone in his life have to be so opaque? “I will. Okay, bye Near.”

“Take care of yourself, Matt.”

Matt hangs up with a heavy heart and more questions than he wants to have. What “offer” could Near have made Mello? If Near and Mello have been in contact, why would Near ask Matt to talk to Mello for him?

And if Mello’s the one who got up and left, why does Matt feel like the one who ran away?

 


	4. Convinced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! A big thanks to everyone who's commented and left kudos so far, you are what keeps me going. Also a big thanks (again and again and again) to my betas, who kick my butt into gear. Before we get into Chapter 4, I'd like to make a quick announcement: For anybody who'd like to see little snippets of the behind-the-scenes tomfoolery that goes into LBLP, follow loudbreathslongpases on Tumblr (I'm still working on it so forgive the layout!). And for anybody who would like to follow me, my personal/fandom is leftyagami.

_Friday, December 16, 2011_

“Hey, Miha, move your legs for a sec. I gotta get a roll of receipt paper.” Rafaela scoots up beside Mello and gently swats at his hip.

Mello moves a few inches down the bar, still staring absentmindedly out onto the empty dance floor. The club won’t open its doors for another ten minutes at least--but he and Rafaela are pretty much done getting the bar ready.

Mello’s been avoiding Matt for almost two full weeks now. It feels weird, but he doesn’t know what else he can do. For some reason, Matt has been intent on putting Mello on a crazy emotional roller coaster lately, and Mello can’t help but ride every time. He doesn’t know what happened, but his self-control is shot to hell and even though he knows better, he still can’t act any differently. He’s even started getting dizzy when he sees Matt, just like back when his feelings were new. So he’s keeping his distance, trying to push his hope down and build himself back up enough to be able to handle Matt and his oblivious hot-and-cold games.

And yet, as much as he knows the distance is a good thing for both of them, he still aches for Matt. He misses their morning coffee the most--that hour that belongs just to the two of them, their inane conversations, the companionship. It’s been weighing on him more than he wants it to. 

“You know, it feels so, so weird to call you Miha,” Rafaela says from where she’s crouched in front of the bar’s shelves. “Like, _so_ weird. It’s like I’m calling you _mija_ , right?”

Mello rolls his eyes, ticked at the interruption. “You say that pretty much every shift we have together, Rafy. Get over it.”

“Yeah, well,” she replies, standing up with three rolls of receipt paper in her hands, “I just have to use such an _American_ accent when I say it. Mee-haw.”

“You do not say it that way. Ever.” 

“Psh, whatever, Mee-haw.” Rafaela finishes loading her printer and stacks the other two rolls next to her register. “In any case, I need to find something else to call you.”

Mello shrugs. “All right.”

“No hints, huh.”

“Nope.”

“No embarrassing nicknames from your family, from high school, nothing?”

“No.”

Rafaela sighs in response. “Boy, you’re not having it tonight,” she says. “Been sleeping okay?”

“Fine,” Mello says, and it's a lie, but it's beside the point. 

The night’s first DJ, just one of the local nobodies who plays the dead hours, finishes talking to the sound guys and starts his set. “I’m gonna figure something out,” Rafaela yells to compensate for the increase in ambient noise level. “Something I can call you.”

The first few people start to come in. “Well, good luck with that,” Mello says, and quickly double-checks that everything at the bar is ready.

“Oh hey,” says Rafaela behind him, “I still gotta restock some waters. You good solo?”

Mello looks out at the ten people who’ve come in so far--three of them look pretty drunk already--then back to Rafaela. “Please.”

She shrugs. “Hey man, just checking.” Then she disappears into the back.

A group of six people come in and make a beeline for the bar. Mello smoothes down his hair and does his best to look tippable.

* * *

 

It’s about a half hour after opening when someone walks in who Mello doesn’t particularly want to see. He’s with the same group of friends as usual, chatting away with them as they make their way across the dance floor toward the bar. Mello wonders if he should walk away and let Rafaela handle the bar for a few minutes, but by the time he can seriously consider it, Oliver has already noticed him.

Oliver Chan, 21 years old. USC senior, double majoring in…something, and...something else. See-you-next-Friday guy. Flaky asshole. Houdini with the disappearing act.

 _T-Pain_ , his brain provides unhelpfully.

Mello doesn’t have a line. Oliver comes right up to the bar.

“Hey, Mihael,” he says, running a hand through his tuft of silky black hair. “How've you been?”

“What’ll it be,” Mello says flatly.

Oliver gives him a questioning look but just says, “Mai tai.”

“Eight fifty.”

“Keep the change.”

Mello starts making the drink. He works almost robotically, eyeballing the rums as he pours them into the shaker. He can feel Oliver’s eyes on him, and it makes him hold the bottles at odd angles and move his hands in a way that feels just a little off. It’s not that he wants to be weird about things, he just...doesn’t have time for flaky bullshit. He doesn’t have time for _any_ bullshit, actually, with all the stuff he’s got going on.

“Mai tai,” Mello announces, garnishing the drink with a pineapple spear and sliding it over.

Oliver takes it a little hesitantly, giving Mello another look. “Thanks,” he says.

Mello nods.

“Mind if I stay and chat while it’s still slow?”

 _Yes, I mind_ , Mello thinks. Instead of saying that, though, he says, “Sure, whatever. Just don’t interrupt me while I’m working.”

It has the same effect. Oliver recoils. “Whoa. Okay. So. Tell me if I got something wrong here, but the last time we talked, I thought we were connecting?”

Mello resists the urge to cross his arms but takes his left wrist into his right hand and begins kneading it. “Yeah, I thought so too, and then you disappeared on me.” He pauses, then adds, “So what did you expect?” 

Instead of accepting the rebuke, Oliver relaxes and says, “Oh, is that all.” He takes a sip of his drink. “This is really good. So, look, here’s the deal. See that drunk asshole over there?” He turns around and points to a guy on the dance floor that Mello recognizes as one of the friends he usually comes to the club with. “Last time we came, he pre-gamed way too hard, got sick, we had to take him home. Only one DD, only one car, only one chance to get back.” He turns back around to face Mello again. “The night ended early for all of us--this was at like. Ten-thirty, maybe not even. Okay?”

Mello huffs, still a little frustrated. “Oh,” he says. “Well. Okay.”

“Yeah,” Oliver says. “Really, it sucks to have five people and one car, it really ties you down.” 

“I’ll bet.” Mello looks away.

Oliver frowns. “Are we good?” he asks. “You look like we’re still not good.”

“I don’t know,” Mello says.

Oliver takes another sip of his drink. “Okay. What can I do about that?”

Mello knows he shouldn’t be irritated with Oliver. There was a misunderstanding, it was fixed, everything should be good.But everything’s not good, Mello’s still mad, and it’s entirely because he wants to be. It’s got nothing to do with Oliver. Mello just doesn’t feel like getting chatted up right now. He’s been in a weird place, ever since all this weird shit with Matt started.

Why can’t Oliver just _know_ that Mello’s got shit on his mind? It would make things so much more convenient.

“You can’t do anything,” Mello replies crossly. He’s surprised that he doesn’t have a single customer, until he looks over to Rafaela and sees that she’s been quietly picking up some of his slack. “It’s got nothing to do with you. I’ve just got other stuff going on.”

“Other stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, let’s talk. Maybe I can cheer you up.”

Mello waves a customer over. “Just drop it, Oliver. Not tonight. Maybe I’ll see you next Friday or something.”

Oliver downs the rest of his drink as a small crowd starts to form around Mello’s end of the bar. “When’s your break?”

“Drop it, okay?”

“I just wanna talk. About whatever. It doesn’t have to be about anything important.”

Mello stops in between pours on some girl’s Long Island iced tea. “Oliver.”

“Mihael.”

Mello resumes making the drink, still feeling that same self-consciousness from before. “I’m not up for it,” he says. “Stop pushing.”

Oliver tugs at his hair and purses his lips. “Look, I’m just trying to help.”

“Long Island,” Mello announces. He turns toward Oliver for just one more moment before tending to the other customers. “Well, stop trying.”

Mello hears Oliver sigh. “Okay,” he says, defeated. “I’ll be back later if you change your mind.” He slides his empty glass over, and then he’s gone.

“So, what was that?” Rafaela asks, coming behind Mello to pour a glass of beer.

Mello puts a lime on a margarita and sends it out. “Nothing,” he replies, “just...stuff.”

“Didn’t look like just stuff.” Rafaela crosses back over to her customer, handing out the beer and taking the next customer’s order. “It looked like you were getting kinda snippy.”

“Ugh.” Mello doesn’t want to get into this. He just wants to finish his shift, go home, go to bed, and get on with figuring his shit out. “He kept trying to talk to me, that’s all. Next! What can I get you?”

“Mm,” Rafaela hums in response, busy pouring vodka and triple sec into a shaker. “Wait. Isn’t he the guy from like...two weeks ago? I thought you two were really hitting it off, what happened?”

“Like I just told him, it’s not your business.” Mello fills a glass with ice and sets it down on the bar.

“Two Cosmos. You told him it was none of my business? Hey, what’ll you have?”

Mello groans and accidentally overpours the peach schnapps. “Shit. God damn it.” He starts the drink over, trying to pay better attention. “No, I told him it was none of _his_ business.”

“I still don’t get it. You told him that whatever’s going on between you two wasn’t any of his business? I thought he was involved. Right behind you.” Rafaela crosses back over to pour another beer.

“No,” Mello corrects. “The stuff isn’t about him, so he’s not involved, so I don’t want to talk to him about it, because it’s none of his business.” He takes a deep breath. “Now leave it alone.”

Coming back to her crowd to hand out the beer, Rafaela lightly nudges Mello’s ribs with her elbow. “Well hey, I think it wouldn’t be that bad to talk to him,” she says. “You’ve been really weird all night, maybe getting some stuff off your chest would help.”

“No.”

“Plus, he seems like your type.”

“ _No_.”

“But Miha--”

“Sex on the Beach.”

“I mean yeah maybe, that wasn’t what I was getting at, but--”

“Rafy, the _drink_.”

“Oh. Well, okay. But I really think--”

“You don’t understand.” 

“I don’t. And neither will anyone, if you don’t talk about it.”

“ _Ugh_.” Mello grabs a couple empty glasses off the bar and shoves them one at a time on the glass washer.

“Okay, Miha, listen.” Rafaela takes out a glass, fills it with ice, and starts making a drink. “Something’s going on with you, I don’t know what it is, but it’s something, and it’s been on your mind all night. You’re not having a good time, I’m not having a good time, that kid over there’s not having a good time--where’s the harm in letting it go for a while and having a normal conversation?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Mello can feel Rafaela starting to wear him down. It’s hard to stay moody and irritable around rave girls, he’s been learning ever since he started working with her. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try. “I’m just not in the mood to talk right now.”

“But you’re in the mood to argue and be ornery.”

“...No.”

“See?” Rafaela garnishes the drink with an orange slice. “Sex on the Beach.” There’s a pause. “Um. Sex on the Beach?” She turns toward Mello. “I thought you said someone ordered a....”

Mello hangs his head. “No, Rafy, I was _announcing_ the….”

“...Oh. Well. Okay, but you get where the misunderstanding came from, right?”

“I…” Something gives. Mello huffs. “You know what. Fine. I’ll talk to Oliver.”

Rafaela gives Mello a cheeky asshole smile for cheeky assholes. “Good,” she says. “Oh, speak of the devil.” She nods toward the dance floor, where Oliver is making his way back to the bar. Then she turns back toward her customers. “Okay, next? Hi, what can I get for you?”

Mello helps three customers before he gets to Oliver. As it’s gotten later, the crowd has gotten larger, and it’s at the point where both Mello and Rafaela are fairly busy. There’ll be a lull a little later, while the early-comers, who are just now coming in, get drunk enough to start dancing; but right now, Mello’s got his hands full.

“Hey,” Oliver says when he comes up to the bar. “Can I get another Mai Tai?”

“Mai Tai,” Mello repeats, and takes the ten Oliver hands him.

Oliver watches him work on the drink. “So,” he starts casually.

“So.”

“Still not up for chatting?”

“I…” Mello looks at Rafaela, who’s busy helping customers and doesn’t notice him. “I... _guess_ I can talk for a while. On my break. Right now I’m busy.”

“I can see that. So, what time?”

“Hm.” Mello takes a second to think. “Hey, Rafy.”

“Yeah?” she calls back, not taking her eyes off the drink she’s making.

“What time are you going on break?”

She shrugs. “Whenever it slows down.”

“Helpful.”

“I mean--”

Mello turns back to Oliver and doesn’t listen to the rest of what Rafaela says. “Come back when it’s slow, and if my coworker’s not on break, I’ll go. This little rush should die down soon, we’ll get some downtime between the earlier people and the after-eleven crowd.”

“Sounds great,” Oliver says, flashing Mello a warm smile that reminds him why he was into Oliver in the first place. “I’ll be back soon.” He takes his Mai Tai and goes off to rejoin his friends.

* * *

 

“And then he has the nerve to tell me he ‘doesn’t want to ruin our friendship,’” Mello gripes. “ _He_ says this. After how long I’ve tried and how hard I’ve worked and how- just, _ugh_. I don’t understand.”

Mello takes a deep breath. This conversation is not going as planned. He wanted--he _only_ wanted--to have a normal conversation with Oliver, just to take his mind off of everything he’s been feeling about Matt. But somehow, something set him off, and he’s spent the last ten minutes ranting about every single Matt-related upset he’s experienced in the last couple weeks. But he’s fine now. Mello’s gotten everything off his chest, he’s done talking about it, he’s done thinking about it, he’s just done.

“And another thing,” he adds. “The cake he got me for my birthday had a stupid text heart on it--you know, that less-than-three thing. He actually had the staff at the Baskin-Robbins write that little icing heart on the cake. Isn’t that the most ridiculous fucking thing? I just don’t know how to handle him. This is exhausting. I’m exhausted.”

Okay. _Now_ he’s done. Mello huffs and sits back, and immediately feels embarrassed.

 _Fuck_. Mello shouldn’t dump all his stupid emotional baggage on a stranger. What a dumb thing to do. He thought he had more self-control than that, but hey--he thought he had more self-control than a lot of things. It looks like that’s just not how his life is shaping up right now.

Mello looks over at Oliver. Surprisingly, he looks more amused than anything.

“God, I hate guys who can’t decide what they want,” he says.

“What?” Mello asks.

“Your friend. Sounds like a pretty classic case to me.”

“Of…”

Oliver gives Mello a knowing look. “Of, you know.” He stretches himself out and tucks his arms behind his head. “That experimentation-but-not-experimentation, hot-cold, gay-straight-bi fuckery that guys who are ‘figuring themselves out’ try to pull.”

“Oh.” Mello _didn’t_ actually know that sort of thing existed. He can see how it would, but he doesn’t have the experience to back that up. But, “Wait.” _Figuring themselves out_? “So, you’re saying...Matt’s... _experimenting_ ….”

“With you? Yeah, probably. And backpedaling when it gets too homo to handle.”

Mello considers that for a moment. He goes through all his interactions with Matt over the last weeks, few as they are, and finds...exactly that sort of fuckery. Drawing Mello in, and then pushing him away. Mello’s stomach flips. “Oh,” he says again, and scratches at the back of his neck. 

Oliver pulls himself back in, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs. He bites his lip, looking a little nervous. “You mean, you didn’t…?”

“I...no.” Mello feels his cheeks heat up. “That’s….”

“Shitty? Pretty much,” Oliver says. 

Mello would have used the word _humiliating_. If he’s been falling all over himself with this stupid hope while Matt’s just been playing around, then….

 _No_. “Matt’s not like that at all, though,” Mello says. “He wouldn’t.”

Oliver goes silent for a second. Then he says, quietly, “Give it some thought.”

Mello huffs. He won’t give it any thought. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Mm.” Oliver looks down at the space between his crossed legs. “I’ll admit, I don’t know Matt, other than what you’ve told me about him. But I’ve seen this behavior...a few times.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I want to be.” Oliver doesn’t look at Mello, but his voice is clear, honest. Urging. “I do want to be wrong, but I’ve wanted to be wrong enough times to guess that I’m probably not. I don’t mean to be so blunt with it, because I do know how it is, but there are too many guys out there who do exactly this. And they keep doing it because they can get away with it.”

“Shut up! Just, shut up.” Mello pulls away from Oliver, putting a good foot and a half between them. His stomach flips again. “Matt and I are _best friends_. Don’t talk about him like he’s _using_ me.”

Oliver sighs, so quiet it’s almost inaudible under the muted music. “I won’t,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re _friends_. We’ve known each other forever.”

“That _is_...how it usually….” Oliver shakes his head and doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Mello knows what he was going to say, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Just stop talking.” Mello grits his teeth. “Matt and I have known each other forever, I know him way better than you ever will. And I don’t know what your shitty friends did to you, but Matt’s not like that.”

Oliver folds in on himself a little more. “Ouch,” he says, glancing at Mello out of the corner of his eye. “That was...pretty harsh.”

“...Yeah. I guess it was.” Mello lets his head fall back against the wall. He takes one deep breath, then another. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Oliver ventures a little closer, beginning to close the gap Mello put between them. “I’m sorry I said some harsh things too. You’re right, I don’t know Matt.”

Damn right Oliver doesn’t know Matt. He doesn’t know Matt, and he doesn’t know that Matt wouldn’t do anything like that. 

...At least, not intentionally. Matt _has_ been pulling some stuff that looks an awful lot like experimentation, but there’s no way he can be aware of it.

“And- and, if he is... _experimenting_ , I’m sure he doesn’t know he’s doing it.”

Oliver looks confused for a long second before he scoots all the way next to Mello. “Some guys don’t. Does that make it any better?” He turns to look Mello in the eyes.

Mello turns his gaze away and brings a hand up to massage his neck. “It’s different.”

“Different how?”

“I can handle it.”

“Handle it? You mean, like, talk to him?” Oliver keeps pressing. It’s giving Mello a full-on stomachache, all roils and flutters.

He takes a few breaths and tries to will it away. “No. I can take care of it on my own.”

“Are you _going_ to talk to him?”

“No.”

“But why?” Oliver looks completely lost, and Mello wonders for the second time why he can’t just _understand_.

“Because I’ve been doing this for years. This isn’t new, it’s just different.”

“ _Why_ , though?”

“What do you mean, _why_?”

“Why do you want to let him keep doing this to you?”

“Because I _have_ to!”

“The only thing you _have_ to do….” Oliver starts, then trails off. He opens his mouth, closes it again, then worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Okay,” he says finally. “I don’t wanna be too blunt again. But don’t think the responsibility for your friendship rests only on your shoulders.”

Mello shakes his head. “Like I said, I can handle it.”

Oliver studies Mello’s face like he’s searching for something. Not finding it, he makes a little “mm” sound in the back of his throat. “What I meant to say is, Matt’s doing what he’s doing because he’s in a weird place in his life. And you’re letting him because you’re in a weird place in yours.”

“Don’t assume--” Mello tries weakly to say, but stops. It’s not worth it. He’s not going to get anywhere derailing this into an argument, and plus Oliver’s not wrong.

“And if all you do is handle it, handle it, handle it, you’re only opening yourself up to more shit.” Oliver puts a hand on Mello’s wrist. “My totally unsolicited advice? Let it go for a while. Have some fun, forget about him. Get a clear head, and then you can come back to the situation and do whatever you need to.”

Mello looks down at the hand. He thinks about pulling away, but the contact is...nice. “I….” He looks away and sighs. “He’s not a...don’t talk about Matt like he’s a situation.”

“Mihael. I’m not talking about Matt like he’s anything. I’m talking about you.” Oliver’s thumb begins rubbing little circles into Mello’s skin. “Think about it, okay? Or, don’t think about it, maybe. All I know is you don’t deserve to be in this mess.”

Mello sighs again. He doesn’t want to be convinced. More, he doesn’t want there to be anything he has to be convinced _of_. “I guess.”

“I know.” Oliver stops the thumb-circles and slides his hand into Mello’s, lacing their fingers together.

Mello looks at their hands again, then around at the scenery. He and Oliver are sitting on the floor, tucked into a little hallway by the bathrooms. Mello thinks of it as the “break room,” but it’s really just a hallway with a door at the end that leads outside, to the alley behind the bar where the security guys take their breaks. Rafaela breaks outside with them, but Mello usually doesn’t. And Mello doesn’t think they’re bad guys--he actually likes them a lot--he just prefers to have his break to himself. They understand that, which is part of why he likes them so much. It’s quiet enough in this little hallway anyway, since the music doesn’t really reach this far.

Oliver’s hand is warm in his.

Mello’s heart sinks.

Mello pulls out his phone and checks the time. “Oh, shit. I’ve got to get back.” He’s two minutes over. Rafaela probably won’t care, but Mello holds himself to a standard. He stands up.

Oliver stands up with him, keeping their hands intertwined. “I probably shouldn’t stay here then. That guy’s been giving me looks anyway.” He nods toward the security guy guarding the hallway so messed-up clubgoers don’t wander out the door. “Back to the bar?”

Mello nods and starts back.

“Yo, Oli!”A group of guys accosts them on the outskirts of the dance floor. One of them says, “We’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Oh, hey guys,” Oliver says. “What’s up?” He doesn’t let go of Mello’s hand.

The guy in front, who Mello only knows as the pre-gamer (but who appears pretty sober now), says, “We’re gonna go around midnight. It’s Tricia’s birthday, did you know that?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t.” Oliver glances quickly at Mello, then back to his friend.

“Yeah, so we should hit up her party tonight.” The guy continues talking, while Oliver gives Mello another look.

For the third time, Mello looks down at their hands. It was nice while it lasted, he thinks, but if this is the end of it, he’s not too disappointed. He’s not holding out hope, either. He doesn’t really have the patience for endless see-you-next-Fridays.

Plus, he has to get back to work. So, while Oliver’s discussing group plans with his friends, Mello quietly extricates himself and heads toward the bar.

“Welcome back,” Rafaela says when he returns. “So, how’d it go?”

Mello shrugs and waves a customer over. There are still only a few people around the bar, since the next wave of people needing drinks haven’t started showing up yet. “He’s nice. He’s leaving.”

“He’s what?” Rafaela whirls around, almost dropping a bottle of simple syrup. “Why?”

Mello fills a glass with ice and starts making a vodka tonic. “His friends are all leaving.”

“Oh. That blows.”

“It’s fine.”

“If you say so.” Rafaela adds a lime twist to her drink. “Mojito. So, next time then? Hi, what can I get for you?”

Mello sends the vodka tonic out and starts helping a new customer. “No. I don’t want to waste my time. Next, what can I get you?”

“Fair enough, I guess….” Rafaela grabs a bottle of Fireball and a shotglass. “Kind of a shame, though. You were cute together. Shot of Fireball.”

“Uh-huh.” Mello pulls out a bottle of tequila. “Wait, what do you mean we were ‘cute,’ ‘together’?”

Rafaela shoots Mello an exaggerated wink. “Saw you two holding hands just now.”

“Oh, God….” Mello could throttle her. He really could.

She just laughs. “Hey, I said you were cute. Hi, hi! Next, what’ll you have?”

“And she’s brought out the ‘Hi-hi,’” Mello grumbles. “At least one of us is in a good mood.” It’s probably for the better that Oliver’s leaving, he thinks. He came out of their conversation with a lot to think about. 

Mello still doesn’t want to think that Matt’s doing anything wrong. But even if he’s not, even if Mello ignores the overwhelming evidence, Mello’s still not happy with the situation as it is. He’s spent so much time thinking and over-thinking and pushing down his feelings that he’s lost sight of that. He can’t see any way to change that, though. He doesn’t want to change their friendship, and neither does Matt, and that’s what’s most important. Above all, Matt’s his best friend, and Mello doesn’t want to risk losing him. So no matter what Oliver says, Mello knows he can’t do anything extreme. He’s got to keep as calm and controlled as possible.

“Tequila sunrise.”

But, loath as Mello is to admit it, Oliver might be right in what he said last. For the past couple of weeks, Mello’s been tripping over his own thoughts, trying to deal with Matt--trying to deal with himself. He’d never say it outright, but Matt’s words on his birthday were as hurtful as they were embarrassing, and he’s still figuring out how to reconcile his feelings with his friendship. He doesn’t want to feel tied down to this issue--especially if it’s an issue that only he has. He wants to be able to put it behind him and get out of this mess, at least for a little while.

Maybe that’s it. Mello’s been putting distance between himself and Matt to pull himself together enough to keep his control, but maybe that’s not all he needs. Maybe what Mello really needs is a distraction--something to let himself forget for a while, so he can refresh and recharge. He’s been overloading himself with work, but that’s not distracting as much as it is something to do idly.

“Miha! Customers.” There aren’t many, but Mello snaps back into reality and realizes he’s been just standing around.

“Oh, sorry. Next--what can I get you?”

Rafaela goes to start making a drink, then stops dead and stands with a glass of ice in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. “Well, look at that,” she says, gesturing with the bottle toward the dance floor. Mello can hear the smirk in her voice. “So, uh, about that wasting your time.”

“Rum and...coke.” Mello looks up just in time to recognize Oliver before he arrives at the bar.

“Hey,” he greets, bringing a hand up to lightly brush his fingers against Mello’s knuckles.

“Hi.” Mello moves his hand away to wave over another customer. “Next!”

Oliver takes his hands off the bar. “Do you have a car?” he asks without preface.

“Open, or closed?” Mello asks the customer.

“Open.”

Mello takes the card back to his register and opens a tab, then comes back to Oliver. “Yeah, why?”

“Okay.” Oliver brushes a lock of hair out of his face and takes a breath. “Well,” he explains, “I’m asking because I...don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“Okay….” Mello starts working on a whiskey sour. He doesn’t want a repeat of last time either, but he’s not holding his breath. 

“The other guys are leaving soon, though.”

“I know, I heard you guys talking. Whiskey sour.” Mello’s not sure why, but he leaves his hand on the bar after sending the drink out.

Oliver closes his hand over Mello’s. “So I was wondering, if it’s not too weird,” he says, his voice taking on a devious tone, “can I ask you for a ride?”

“Oh,” Mello says.

“Over here! Next!” Rafaela calls out.

Oliver tugs at his hair and then runs his fingers through it, looking down at Mello with heavy-lidded eyes. “What do you say?”

Mello looks down at the polished wood of the bar. He thinks about returning home, turning the key in the lock as quietly as possible, hoping Matt didn’t decide to stay up, hoping Matt doesn’t want to talk to him. He thinks about Matt, with his fiery kisses and icy words and dated pop culture references and the way the thought of dealing with any of those right now makes Mello want to run far, far away. Then he looks back up at Oliver, with his bright smile and warm hands, blunt honesty and _temporary distraction_ , and he makes a decision.

 _Let it go for a while_.

“Sure, yeah.” Mello looks toward Rafaela, but she’s busy with a customer. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Great.” Oliver flashes Mello his stunning smile. “I’m gonna go chill with the guys, but I’m yours at midnight.”

“It’ll be busy.”

Oliver raises his eyebrows. “Hope you’re not gonna do the same shit you did earlier.”

Mello feels his cheeks turn red. “No,” he says, “but I _do_ have to work.”

“Yeah, you do. Work it,” Oliver says somewhat lazily, then turns and walks off.

Mello’s eyes follow Oliver until he’s out of sight.

“You hate to see him go, but….” Rafaela, who Mello guesses was stealth-listening the whole time, hums knowingly and nudges Mello in the ribs.

“Shut up,” Mello says.

* * *

 

“Hey, thanks for the ride home, I really appreciate it,” Oliver says once Mello parks outside his apartment building.

“Yeah, no problem,” Mello says. “Sorry my car is so shitty.”

Oliver just laughs. “You should see Alex’s.”

“It’s worse?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Oliver moves as though to get out, then stops with his hand on the door handle. His gaze meanders up to meet Mello’s. “So….” 

Mello turns the car off. His fingers play with the key in the ignition. “So.”

* * *

 

_Saturday, December 17, 2011_

In the early afternoon, Mello wakes up alone to a ray of sunlight running right across his face. He groans and covers his eyes in a futile attempt to make it go away, then sits up and stretches before running his hands through his hair. It’s all frizzy on one side and all flat on the other. Great. Grumbling and swearing under his breath, he turns over and pats the floor by the bed to find his phone.

There’s a folded-up note taped to it, which reads:

_Hey Mihael--sorry I had to run out. Got called in to cover a shift, didn’t want to wake you. Coffee in the pot, door handle locks. Again, sorry. ~Oli_

Mello’s stomach turns. He pockets the note and unlocks his phone to check his messages. His phone is still showing the last text he sent last night.

[3:15 AM] To Matt: _hey i’m not coming home tonight. don’t wait up._ (Read 3:16 AM)

No text in response. There usually isn’t one, but today it makes Mello feel on edge. He flips through his phone to see if there’s anything else. One missed call, one voicemail. Both from Jack, which makes Mello a little worried, so he goes to listen to the voicemail.

“ _Mello. Jack. I know you said not to bring it up again, but I got something you might be interested in. Not quite your standard fare, if you get my drift. Money’s good. Call me back if you wanna know more._ ” 

Another one of Jack’s “interesting jobs” pitches, huh. Mello supposes it was only a matter of time. He’s been doing more work for Jack and his boss recently, and while it’s just been the typical grunt work he usually does, Jack’s definitely noticed that something has changed.

And something _has_ changed. Mello knows his goals, and how he intends to achieve them. But he also knows that he needs money--and something to do while he’s out of the apartment. He hates himself for even considering it, but with everything that’s been going on in his head, he might welcome the distraction. Surely there are jobs he could take that would be more interesting than painting a car but that wouldn’t tie him down to the organization.

Right?

Mello’s thumb hovers over Jack’s phone number. It would be so easy, he realizes. So easy to pick up the phone, call Jack, take a job. So easy to ask for information, and receive it.

So easy to get in too deep.

Mello groans and drops his phone back on the floor. He looks for his underwear, finds them dangling off the headboard by their waistband, and has the urge to hang his head in his hands.

Instead, he puts them back on, gets out of bed, and heads into Oliver’s kitchen. He’ll find the rest of his clothes later. If he’s going to survive today, he’s going to need coffee.

 


	5. Mr. Brightside

_Saturday, December 17, 2011_

Matt comes inside from his most recent smoke break and flops down on the couch, pulling his goggles back over his eyes. It’s a few minutes past three in the morning, which means Mello should be just getting off work and starting the drive home. That’s good, because Matt’s starting to get restless.

He’s been trying to focus on things that aren’t Mello all night. He sat down at the piano and started composing something, but that didn’t keep his attention for very long. At the present moment, he’s been working through the Water Temple in the new Ocarina of Time, and even that hasn’t been managing to distract him effectively. He keeps turning things over in his head, trying to figure out what he’s going to say when Mello walks through the door.

It’s not easy. He has so many thoughts and feelings and questions bouncing around in his head that it’s crazy to try to organize them, to figure out where to start. Currently, he’s fluctuating between “What _happened_?” and “I’m sorry,” but both options seem cripplingly insufficient.He wants to know what he did, why Mello has barely been home the past couple of weeks, where Mello goes in those hours that Matt _knows_ he’s not at work or at the gym or at wherever. He wants Mello to know that it’s killing him, not knowing these things. He wants to explain what’s been going on in his head, so that maybe Mello will do the same. He wants--

Really, he just wants _Mello_. Matt misses him something awful. He’s sick of waking up every morning and feeling the ache of Mello’s absence. And after so long, Matt’s beyond ready to clear all this up. Once Mello gets home, they’re going to talk. He’s going to figure out what’s been going on. If Mello has feelings for him, they’ll work it out. Matt can’t guarantee that he’ll ever know what his own feelings are, but he _can_ guarantee that he’ll leave them at the door, if that’s what Mello wants. Whatever it is that’s gone wrong between them, he’s going to fix it, and they’re going to put it behind them. 

He just needs to...find a good starting place.

Matt curls his toes, flexes them, curls them again, flexes them, then hauls himself into a sitting position and turns off his 3DS. It’s time to go do something else.

He throws off his goggles and heads into the bathroom to inspect his hair. It’s been a while since he last dyed it, so his roots are grown out to the point that it is both noticeable and unacceptable. Usually he has Mello help him with the back, but recently that hasn’t been possible. Matt has the dye, he’s just been holding out for things between him and Mello to fix themselves.

Hopefully that will happen tonight.

Matt’s phone buzzes in the living room. Which is weird, he thinks, because the only person he knows who would reasonably be awake at this hour is Mello, but he should be driving. Matt hopes Mello’s not texting and driving. He stops playing with his hair and goes to check.

[3:15 AM] From Mello: _hey i’m not coming home tonight. don’t wait up._

Matt stares at his phone, letting the message sink in. Mello’s not coming home.

Mello’s not coming home.

Mello’s off getting laid, and he’s not coming home.

 _Fuck_.

All the nervous energy he’s been building up over the course of the night releases itself, and it’s like fire in his gut. 

“Fine,” Matt says aloud, chucking his phone onto the couch next to his goggles and heading toward his room. “Fucking fine. You win, T-Pain.” 

As he passes the junction between the living room and the hallway, Matt has the sudden, distinct memory of catching Mello’s wrist. He hears the light _thud_ of Mello’s back against the wall, sees his frizzy, freshly-cut hair.

He brings a hand up to cover his mouth, shakes his head, and keeps walking.

Safely in his room, sitting cross-legged on his bed, Matt bundles his duvet up into a ball and grabs onto it, sinking his face into the folds. He can tell that he’s shaking slightly, but he can’t tell why.

It’s probably just because he got himself so worked up over nothing, he thinks, taking a deep breath. He got so nervous trying to anticipate how his and Mello’s conversation would go, and now that there’s not going to be a conversation, his body is just letting all that energy out. It has to go somewhere, right?

Matt squeezes the duvet with both hands. His mind flashes to a memory of his fingers in Mello’s hair.

He purses his lips and pushes the memory away. There’s no way. He can’t be. There’s absolutely, positively, no way in hell that he’s….

 _Jealous_.

“No,” Matt asserts into the duvet. His dissent is muffled from the layers of fabric and stuffing. But it’s still true. He’s not jealous. He can’t be, because that would be ridiculous.

Matt’s not jealous, because if he were, that would mean that he wants Mello all to himself. Which would be fine, in a...in a relationship context. As it stands, though, their status hasn’t changed--as per Matt’s own request--and so he has no claim to Mello’s affections.

He had his chance. He knows that. He fucked it up. He knows that too.

But it’s a very particular sort of fuck-up, he thinks, sticking his face back down into the duvet. It’s not that he had feelings for Mello and screwed something up. He just didn’t know-- _doesn’t_ know--how he felt--or, feels.

And if Matt’s jealous, now that he’s already had and lost his chance to have the right to be, even though he still doesn’t know if he could ever do Mello justice, then that means he’s thinking of Mello like a possession. Like a toy. And that’s both unfair and fucked up, and Matt doesn’t want to have feelings that are unfair and fucked up.

He remembers the heat of Mello’s breath on his lips.

He thinks about how T-Pain is probably feeling that same heat, right now.

“No!” Matt says again, tightening his grip on the duvet before casting it aside, getting up from the bed, and turning the light off. It’s late. He should sleep.

He can’t, though. He tosses and turns under the duvet, trying to get comfortable with the idea that right now Mello’s fucking someone else.

 _Someone_. Just someone, not someone _else_. Matt groans and turns over again, shoving his face into the pillow and forcing his eyes shut.

He imagines fingers undoing the buttons on Mello’s shirt, then unzipping the fly of his jeans. Matt realizes that for as long as they’ve been living together, he’s never seen Mello in his underwear. Realistically, he knows that plenty of other people have, but he still feels a burning stab of resentment toward T-Pain, because he’s the one who’s seeing it _now_. 

Maybe Mello goes commando.

Matt can’t breathe with his face in the pillow. He turns onto his side, tucking an arm under his head and a knee up to his chest.

The fingers slide over Mello’s bare chest, pulling his shirt off and letting it drop to the floor. At the contact, Mello closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh.

Matt brings his other knee up and curls himself inward as tightly as he can manage. He can’t keep thinking about this. He can’t.

Mello’s eyes flutter open and he sees...he sees….

Matt has no idea what Mello sees. He probably never will, because of their strict rule to not bring lays back to the apartment. Mello could just as easily be sleeping with the real T-Pain, and somehow, that’s a good thing. It’s the weirdest comfort, the fact that he’ll never have to see an actual human being and know that Mello slept with them, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Something about things always being better in the abstract. Matt’s content to forever imagine a grill, dreadlocks, and Auto-Tuned sex noises.

He wonders whether Mello tops or bottoms. He would imagine that Mello tops, but Mello’s pretty short, so Matt’s not actually sure how that would work out.

“Argh.” Matt throws the duvet off the bed and sits up. Why can’t he get this out of his head? He’s never reacted this way to any of Mello’s previous lays. Why this one? Why T-Pain? Why now?

...Why not earlier? Why not two weeks ago, when he started all this? When it could have mattered?

 _It doesn’t matter anymore_.

At this revelation, Matt brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Whatever feelings he may have, they don’t matter now. If he’d had them just a little earlier, he thinks, they could have, but right now, they don’t. Mello made an advance, Matt rejected it, end of story.

Mello’s crush looks like it was pretty short-lived, too. Matt’s not surprised. Matt probably instigated it himself, with that first kiss. Then he sent a bunch of mixed messages, and finally cut things off for good barely a week after they’d started--not the sort of stuff that keeps a person’s interest. Mello’s clearly over it, Matt’s too late...and here they are.

Matt sighs deeply and spread-eagles himself out on his back. He guesses that maybe he doesn’t need to talk to Mello after all. Because really, what does he have to say? That he’s having irrational feelings that aren’t grounded in reality or reason or fairness? That he wants to have his indecision and eat it too?

No. Mello deserves more than a best friend who wants to play games with him. Matt already knows that.

* * *

 

His alarm goes off at eight AM sharp, all awful, grating buzzes because that’s the only thing that gets him out of bed, even on a good day.

Today is not a good day. Matt shoves his pillow over his head and tries to drown out the sound so he can fall back asleep. He barely managed four hours of sleep. In general, he needs _at least_ seven to function like a proper human--Mello’s always called him a baby for it, but Mello can sleep for fourteen hours straight, and has on multiple occasions, so what does he know.

Plus, Mello’s sleeping with T-Pain. Double what does he know.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz….

Matt groans and tries to put the pillow _in_ his ears. It’s not very effective.... He groans again, tosses the pillow aside, and gets up to go turn off his alarm, which he keeps at the other end of his room. Usually, the combination of harsh buzzes and having to actually get up out of bed is enough to kick Matt’s butt into gear. Today, Matt’s horribly tempted to turn off the alarm, crawl back into bed, and sleep forever.

Too bad he’ll get fired if he does that, he thinks, and uses the thought of expending effort on job-hunting as motivation to stay on his feet.

He showers and dresses quickly, and is standing in the kitchen staring into the empty fridge by 8:15. 

“No food,” he comments uselessly.

Matt closes the fridge door and opens the pantry. Nothing again.

“There’s no food,” he complains to the air. He’s not always a breakfast person, but the fact that he doesn’t even have the option of food is really bothering him.

He glances at the coffee maker.

_Café it is then._

* * *

 

There’s a Starbucks in the same plaza as Matt’s work, so he catches an earlier bus and stops in there before he clocks in. It’s packed, which is probably normal for 9:30 in the morning. Matt wouldn’t know, though. He’s not a café sort of person. He can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s set foot in a Starbucks. 

The girl at the register is cute, though--a dark-skinned Latina girl, probably around Matt’s age, black hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, thick-rimmed glasses slightly askew.

“Hi, welcome to Starbucks!” she greets cheerily when Matt walks up. “What can I get for ya?” Her eyes are way too bright for someone who’s probably been here since 6. Matt’s impressed and intimidated.

“Uh, large coffee.”

“A venti?”

“...Yes? Yes. Sure.”

“Room for cream?”

“No, thanks.”

“That’ll be $2.10.”

Matt hands her a few bills, says, “Keep the change,” takes his coffee, and heads out.

* * *

 

After work, Matt dyes his hair alone. He manages just fine with the top and sides, but ends up mostly guessing in the back. He tries to get his roots, his whole roots, and nothing but his roots so help him God, but he’s pretty sure there are a couple places where it’s just a mess back there.He figures that’s okay, though. His scalp can be red if it wants to be.

After the requisite 15 minutes, Matt squirts the dye all over the rest of his hair. He tries to comb through it to make sure every part gets evenly dyed, but around a third of the way through he finds that he just doesn’t care enough to continue. It’s just a touch-up anyway, he thinks. Nobody’s going to notice his hair if it’s a little less red in a few places.

Well. Mello would, but Mello’s not around and hasn’t been for weeks, so.

Matt rinses all the dye out in the shower, then wraps his hair up in a towel without looking at it in the mirror. He tries to not care.

It’s not an Ocarina of Time sort of evening, but Matt tries to make it one anyway. He spends about half an hour trying to get into the game, but he feels restless. He keeps standing up and pacing around the living room, losing himself in his thoughts, until finally he gives up and shoves his 3DS into his jacket pocket. He’s got too much energy to hang around indoors. And it’s a Saturday night, and he hasn’t been out in a while, and he’s going stir crazy. For the past few nights, Matt’s been hanging around the apartment just waiting for Mello to come home--well, okay, to be fair he usually hangs around the apartment anyway, but this time it’s _different_ because he’s been _waiting_ \--and maybe it’s time to say that enough is enough. Mello’s moved on from whatever was bothering him, and Matt should, too. Who knows, maybe he’ll meet someone.

Maybe he won’t. In any case, if Mello doesn’t come home tonight either, Matt will hopefully be occupied enough that he won’t feel jealous.

* * *

 

It’s 10:30 PM, and Matt’s starting to regret his decision to come out. He’s at the Silver Dollar Saloon on Lower Azusa, which is his and Mello’s usual bar of choice, but without the company it just feels crowded, loud, and isolating. Somehow, he forgot how crap he is at meeting new people. He feels like one of those sad old men who go to bars to drink by themselves.

Matt finishes his beer. He contemplates leaving, but something in his gut tells him to have a cigarette first. While the bar is technically non-smoking, people light up in here all the time, because the owners don’t care. So, still parked in his chair, Matt pulls his half-finished pack of Camels out of his back pocket and puts a cigarette between his lips, then pats himself down looking for a lighter. 

A tap on his shoulder interrupts his search.

“Sorry,” says a really perky voice, “I know this is kind of a weird question, but...are you Mittens from California?”

The cigarette falls out of Matt’s mouth. It lands in his lap.

“ _You know, like how a cat has kittens?_ ” Matt remembers having said to Mello a few months back. He’d just finished making and naming his Mii, and was trying to explain his attachment to it. “ _A little cat is a kitten, so a little Matt...it’s clearly obvious, Mello._ ”

But the voice isn’t Mello’s, and the bright-eyed, dark-haired girl he turns to lock eyes with is definitely not Mello. She is adorable, though, and she looks weirdly familiar.

“Uh,” he flounders, trying to place her face and figure out why she knows his Mii’s name.

She blushes a deep pink and laughs a little nervously. “Sorry,” she says. “I know it’s weird, but I was just checking my StreetPasses, and…you were….” She trails off, then repeats, “Sorry.”

“Uh,” Matt says again, and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair to search it. Sure enough, there’s his 3DS. “Ah, yep, here it is,” he says, pulling it out and setting it on the table. He finds a lighter, too. He puts his lap-cigarette back in his mouth and lights it, taking a long drag and then tilting his head back to blow out the smoke.

Then something occurs to him.

“You brought your 3DS to the _bar_?”

She quits the nervous act and laughs, then feigns indignance. “You brought yours to the bar,” she counters.

“Inadvertently! You _checked_ yours.”

“I was bored! My friend never showed.”

“Sure, sure.” Matt opens his 3DS, then pats the chair next to him. “Don’t tell me your name yet,” he says. “I want this to be the perfect meet cute.”

The girl tosses her hair and slides into the chair, grinning so hard Matt’s afraid her face might fall off. “I think your saying that ruins it,” she says. “But I don’t mind.”

“Damn right you don’t.” 

“Hey!”

“Horses.” As it turns out, Matt’s only StreetPassed one person since he last checked. And--yep, that Mii looks like her. “Eureka,” he says, “I have found it. Miiría.”

“That’s me.”

“Well, Miiría, can I buy you a drink?”

Miiría turns pink again. “Sure,” she says. “And you can call me _María_.”

“Charmed. I’m Matt.”

Miiría thinks on that for a second. “Oh,” she says. “Like a cat has kittens.”

Matt blinks. Then he smiles. “Can I buy you, like, four drinks?”

He buys her, like, four drinks over the course of the next two hours.

About an hour in, he realizes why she looks so familiar. They’re in the middle of a civilized conversation about the future of the 3DS--Miiría’s completely enamored with everything Nintendo has ever done and believes the 3DS is destined for success, and Matt loves Nintendo too but just _knows_ Miiría is _wrong_ \--and Matt’s about to lay down some cold, hard truth when Miiría grabs her long, black hair and begins twisting it into a low bun.

Something clicks.

“You work at Starbucks,” he says, instead of saying the thing he was going to say.

“They said the same thing about the Wii,” Miiría starts, then trails off, brow furrowed. She drops her hair and pulls away slightly. “Yeah...I do...how did you know that?”

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” Matt says in lieu of a response.

“Uh.”

“I work at the movie theater. That’s...not an explanation. I was in just this morning, and this whole time we’ve been talking I’ve been thinking you looked familiar, and I just now remembered why. It was the bun- that hair-twisting thing you just did.”

Miiría nods, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all weird.” Matt feels his cheeks heat up, and it’s not just because he’s a little tipsy.

She giggles and leans in again, folding her arms on the table. “It’s okay. Now we’re even, I guess,” she says.

“I guess we are. Now. Where were we? Oh, right. It’s _so_ expensive, and for what? A dumb 3D gimmick? Come on.”

“ _You_ bought one.”

“Because _I_ love Nintendo, and _I_ think the dumb 3D gimmick is cool. But what _parent_ would--” And it continues.

And before Matt knows it, it’s 12:30, and the bar is so noisy that he and Miiría are huddled together trying to hear each other.

“I’m gonna head outside for a smoke,” Matt says. “Wanna come with?”

“Sure,” Miiría replies, and downs the rest of her beer.

They head outside. Once Matt feels the cool air hit his face, he contemplates never going back inside. Truth be told, he’d kinda like to go home, preferably with her. He wonders if she feels the same way.

“Want a cigarette?” he asks instead.

Miiría shakes her head. “I’ll take a drag of yours though.”

Matt’s okay with that. He lights up and takes a drag, then passes her the cigarette. She puffs on it delicately, then hands it back.

“Thanks,” she says.

“No prob.”

Miiría turns her head to look back at the entrance to the bar, and her hair swooshes behind her.Adorable, Matt thinks, for the umpteenth time.

“I don’t really feel like going back in there,” she says, to Matt’s delight.

“Me neither.” He hesitates for a second, then decides to just go for it. “Wanna get out of here? Go somewhere...quieter?”

Miiría’s cheeks go pink and she looks at her shoes, and for a second, Matt’s worried he misjudged. Then she says, “Sure. I’d offer up my place, but I share a room...” and looks up at Matt sheepishly.

Matt considers the situation at hand. Under normal circumstances, this would be no deal, because of the rule. But meeting an awesome girl because of a StreetPass in a bar hardly falls under “normal circumstances,” and Matt’s also pretty sure that this isn’t just a hookup--it’s got to count for something that he really feels a connection with Miiría, right? This could be the beginning of a beautiful...something.

Besides, there’s no guarantee that Mello’s even coming home tonight. He might make another three AM surprise trip to visit T-Pain for all Matt knows.

And so it’s decided.

“My place is completely empty,” he offers. “It’s across town, though.”

Miiría smiles. “I’ll call a cab,” she says, and reaches down to take Matt’s hand. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“So he’s got one foot stuck in the toilet, he’s brandishing this knife around like a madman, and the vibrator’s going crazy on the floor, just out of his reach,” Matt says as he unlocks the door to the apartment. “And she comes in and she just starts _laughing_ , like hysterically laughing, she has to sit down on the floor she’s laughing so hard. Doesn’t even try to help. Doesn’t even turn the vibrator off. Then he starts laughing, too, and it’s like something just _changes_. So finally, we get him to put the knife down, we pull him out of the toilet, and everyone goes on their merry way.”

“Wow,” Miiría says, following Matt into the kitchen. “That tops any work story of mine for sure. You said these people were _dating_? How did either of them manage that?”

 Matt shrugs. “Well, you know what they say,” he says. “ _Cada oveja con su pareja._ ”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Eh, sort of. Mostly I just pick up a little here, a little there.”

Miiría gives him a skeptical look. “Your accent’s pretty good for someone who just picks up a little here, a little there,” she says. “ _No sé si te creo_.”

Matt heads into the kitchen and grabs two glasses. “ _Aprendo rápido_ ,” he responds absentmindedly, then stops. “Uh. I mean. Want some water?”

“Are you showing off to impress me?” Miiría bounces down onto the couch, and motions for Matt to sit next to her.

Matt brings two glasses of water over and sits down. “Depends. Is it working?”

“Hmm.” She taps her chin mock-thoughtfully. “Not sure yet. I think I need some more evidence to base my decision off of.”

“How’s this for evidence,” Matt says, leaning in until his mouth is right next to Miiría’s ear. “ _Dicen que deberías morir antes de ser sencilla, y en ese sentido, eres virtualmente eterna. Gato. Perro. Café con leche. Agua fresca. Tomate_.”

He gets a squeak of laughter and a palm in his face for his efforts.

“Okay, stop,” Miiría says, out of breath. “I don’t like this anymore. You are butchering my native language.”

Matt grins into Miiría’s hand and pulls his face away. “ _Te he dado alguna impresión_?” he asks.

“ _Alguna, sí_.” 

“ _Buena o mala_?”

Miiría takes a sip of her water to hide her smile. Matt sees it anyway. “Oh, awful. Worst night ever.”

“You wound me with your brutal honesty,” Matt says.

“ _Pendejo_ ,” Miiría replies.

Matt chuckles. “ _¡Qué mala! no digas eso_.”

“Maybe I’m mean.”

“Maybe you’re just saying that.”

She runs a hand through her hair and gives Matt a challenging look. “Why would I just say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Matt replies airily, sipping his water to emphasize his pause. “To impress me?”

Miiría giggles, then falls quiet. She takes another sip of water, then places the glass back on the coffee table. “Hey, Matt?”

“Hm?”

She looks up at him and bites her lip. “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

Matt feels the breath go out of him for just a second. He recovers quickly, and leans in until his lips are just millimeters away from hers. “I don’t know,” he whispers, “am I?”

She doesn’t wait to find out.

* * *

 

Matt wakes up to the slam of a door and Miiría shaking his shoulder.

“Matt. Matt, wake up.” Miiría sounds relatively distraught. Matt opens his eyes. She looks relatively distraught, too. “Your roommate’s here. He looks pretty mad.”

 _Oh, shit_. Matt rubs at his eyes and sits up. “He saw you?”

“I was coming back from the bathroom when he came in.”

“Oh.” Matt pulls the duvet around him, preparing to get up. “How did he know that we…?”

“...Because I’m wearing your shirt, and no pants?” The second after Miiría says that, it’s no longer true. She pulls Matt’s shirt off and starts looking around on the floor.

“...Right. You’re, uh, you’re leaving?” Matt hands her her bra.

“Yeah, I should go…. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

There’s a moment of stark silence while Miiría puts her dress back on.

Matt crosses his arms to hug the duvet closer to him. “Hey, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know that….”

“It’s okay. It...happens?”

Matt half-laughs. “Heh. Okay, well, can I make it up to you? Buy you coffee sometime?”

Miiría scrunches up her nose. “Anything but coffee would be great.”

“Right. Starbucks--got it.”

“I’m guessing you don’t want to go see a movie.”

“God, no.” Matt starts kicking around on the floor looking for his phone. He doesn’t find it. “Can I give you my number? I don’t know where my phone went.”

Miiría smiles. “I could call it,” she offers, and hands Matt her phone.

“Not necessary, I’m sure I’ll find it eventually.” He inputs his number under the name “Mittens” and hands it back to her. A second later, he spots his phone. “Ah, see? Right here,” he says, picking it up.

“Mittens. Adorable.” Miiría grabs her purse and sticks her phone into it, then whips around to face Matt again. “Have you been thinking of me as Miiría this entire time?” she accuses.

“...No? No, of course not. Not at all. Never, not even once.”

“ _Por el amor de Dios, eres imposible_ ,” Miiría murmurs, grinning and shaking her head. She pats herself down and checks her purse. “Okay, that’s everything. I’m out.”

“I’ll walk you to the door. Do you have a ride? Let me give you cab fare.”

She waves him off. “I was gonna catch a cab home anyway tomorrow.”

“You picked up the ride here.”

“You picked up the drinks. Plus, you’re taking me out soon.”

Matt sighs and raises his hands in defeat. “All right. I give, I give.” 

He walks Miiría to the door. 

“Sorry again,” he says.

“It’s all right, “ she replies. “I’ll text you with my number from the cab.”

“Sure thing. Get home safe.”

“I will.” She gives him a quick kiss. “Night, Mittens.”

“Bye, Miiría.”

The door closes behind her. Matt takes a deep breath and attempts to bundle himself up more. This isn’t going to be a fun conversation.

He shuffles over to Mello’s room and knocks on the door, hesitantly.

“Mel?” he calls.

No answer.

“Mello?” Matt knocks again, a little louder this time. “Mello, please come out. I’m sorry. Can we talk?”

Still, no answer.

Matt sighs and turns away from Mello’s door. He checks his phone, just to stall. One missed call from Near. No new texts. Two new emails, both spam. No sound from Mello’s room. Matt’s about to head back into his own room when he hears the creak of a doorknob behind him. He turns back around. Mello is standing in the doorway, hair frizzy as always, eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else that Matt can’t place.

“Where is she?” he asks.

Matt glances in the general direction of the door. “She left,” he says.

“Fine,” Mello says. He nods toward the living room. “You want to talk? Let’s _talk_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Tumblr user rightyagami for translations in this chapter! Chapter 6 may be a bit early, by the way.


	6. Give-and-Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year since I've posted anything for this fic, and when I finally do, it's not a new chapter, it's a rewrite. Oops. So. Chapter 6 has been heavily rewritten! Also, it's super long. So, I hope the product of a literal year's worth of revisions is an acceptable trade-off for a year without updates, lol.

_ Sunday, December 18, 2011 _

Mello’s angry. He’s so angry. He’s furious. He’s so mad that his chest hurts and his throat chokes up and his vision blurs and he can’t see straight, but he can still see Matt with his red hair and his duvet wrapped around him and they’re standing right next to the hallway and this all feels too familiar but it’s not because  _ how could he do this _ .

How could he do this?

They had a rule, how could he do this?

They had a  _ rule _ .

“Mello, I’m sorry,” Matt says, and he has no right to sound that sad, because he’s not the one who came home to find that one of their apartment’s most important rules had been violated.

“Sit,” Mello commands.

Matt sits. 

“Matt,” Mello seethes, “you know what the rules are.”

Matt looks at the coffee table. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Did you  _ forget _ ?”

“...No.”

“Then  _ why _ ?” Mello’s voice cracks. He turns away and starts pacing the length of the living room. “Why the hell would you bring someone back to this apartment even though you  _ know _ we have a rule?”

“I--”

Mello doesn’t let him finish. “Seriously, how could you do this to me? How the  _ hell _ could you do something like this to me?”

“I--” Matt tries again.

“It’s like you don’t give a shit about- about--” Mello’s voice cracks again. “About our agreement, about our- about our whole...housing situation, I don’t get how the fuck you thought that shit would be okay when I’ve  _ clearly _ said it’s not!”

Matt sighs. “Mello,” he says, “I’m sorry for bringing her here. I didn’t know you would get so upset. She shares a room with somebody so we couldn’t go back to her place, and I didn’t know if you’d be coming home tonight, so I figured….”

“You figured what? That everything you were doing was fine so long as I didn’t find out about it?”

Matt shrugs and bundles himself up more in his stupid duvet. “Well...yeah, kinda,” he mumbles.

Fine. Mello sees how it is. Matt’s not sorry, not really. He’s not sorry he fucked everything up, he’s just sorry he got  _ caught _ . “Well, I did find out. So fuck you.”

She was so pretty. Mello’s stomach churns.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says again.

“Oh, sure.” This whole situation, and Matt in his duvet, and the low lighting in the living room, it’s too much, so Mello moves and flips another light on. Matt flinches. Good. “You’re not sorry. You literally just said you’re not sorry.”

Matt turns and looks at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean? I never said that.”

“Cut the fucking puppy dog act, you know exactly what you said.” Mello paces back and forth in front of the coffee table. He can’t sit down, he can’t stand still, if he stops he might throw up or stop breathing because she was so pretty and so soft and she had such a cute voice and she probably made some really sexy noises when he  _ fucked her _ . His thoughts are a crackling mix of  _ how could you how could you how could you _ and  _ Oliver was right you were just using me you used me he was right _ , and it fills him with the same crazed, panicked rage he imagines he'd feel if he were being burned alive.

“I just said I was sorry, like, a bunch.” Oh, now Matt’s starting to raise his voice. Why, Mello wonders. Does he feel  _ slighted _ ? Does he feel  _ wronged _ ?

“You said you thought everything would be fine so long as you didn’t get caught.” Mello’s vision is so blurry that he can’t even look at Matt. He looks toward the kitchen instead, toward the door, the hallway, the ceiling, the floor.

He hears fabric shuffling on the couch. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry?” comes Matt’s voice. “I  _ am _ sorry. If I’d known it was going to make you so mad, I wouldn’t have--”

“You wouldn’t have done it?” Mello whips around to stare Matt down. “Okay. Fine. So you’re sorry you got caught, and you’re sorry I got angry, I still don’t hear you being sorry you did it.”

“Okay, look.” Matt catches Mello’s gaze and blinks. “I...Mello, are you...are you okay?”

Mello wipes at his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says. “So? Are you not sorry?”

“I  _ am _ ,” Matt insists, raising his voice again. “Why can’t you just take my apology for what it is? Why do I have to prove that it’s sincere? It  _ is _ sincere. I  _ am _ sorry. And why is this rule so much more important than all the other rules we have? You do shit all the time, and you don’t see me blowing up over it. We talk, we work it out, that’s it. Why is this rule so different?”

Mello shakes with rage. How could Matt think that a rule  _ not to fuck anyone in the apartment _ wasn’t important? How could he not know that? 

How could he not know that just seeing that girl in the hallway, seeing an actual human being and knowing that Matt slept with them, was enough to….

To….

“I wouldn’t have jumped on your back like this if  _ you’d _ brought someone over here,” Matt adds, and of course he wouldn’t. Of  _ course _ he wouldn’t, because he doesn’t feel the same things Mello does, and Mello  _ knows _ that, and he  _ accepts _ that, but can’t Matt see how fucking hard it makes things when he just  _ does stuff _ with no regard for Mello’s- for their- for-- 

_ Fuck _ .

Mello burns. He wishes he had something to say back to that, something to fill the silence. His anger scorches his insides, so hot and so real that the smoke chokes his throat and stings his eyes. But the words don’t come quickly enough.

“Not to mention,” Matt continues suddenly, “that rule is really unfair to me anyway? You meet pretty much all your guys at EMBR now, right? And they live in the city. It’s way more convenient for you to go to their places than for them to come all the way here. But it’s not the same for me. Sometimes--hell, a lot of the time--here is the most convenient option. And I’ve turned people down before, because of this rule, and so you jumping on me for the  _ one time _ I don’t is just. It’s unreasonable?”

“I’ve turned people down too!” Mello counters, and his own voice is ringing in his ears and he’ll wake up the whole apartment complex if he damn well wants to and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore but the words still come. “And you know, maybe you  _ should _ be turning them down, because for all the girls you say you’ve got throwing themselves at you, I’ve never seen you date anyone. Get any phone numbers? Remember any names? You tossed that bitch out, are you ever going to see her again?” It briefly registers in his mind that maybe he shouldn’t have said any of that, but right now he really doesn’t care. He wants Matt to say,  _ It’s not just you _ . He wants Matt to say,  _ I’ve used other people too. _

Matt reels back like he’s been slapped. “What the fuck? María’s not- what do you mean throwing themselves at- Mello,  _ you’re the one who _ \--” he starts, then stops and shakes his head, purses his lips. “I don’t want this. Mello, I don’t want to do this.”

“ _ You _ don’t want to--” Mello says, and then he stops, because the name snakes into his brain.  _ Her _ name.  _ María _ . His vision blurs, and his mind blanks out. “Just fuck you,” he says, because he can’t find it in him to say anything else. “Fuck you!”

Matt stands up. Mello follows him with his eyes, and in the changing light he sees a glimpse of Matt’s hair--unevenly red, with a few ugly patches of brown roots.  _ He dyed his hair _ , Mello realizes.  _ He dyed it, and it sucks _ . Good. Fuck Matt and his stupid hair. He should have known better than to try and do it on his own. “You know what,” Matt says, his voice shaking, “fuck you too. I wanted to apologize, I wanted to talk, I wanted to fix all this shit, but if you don’t, that’s okay too. I don’t care. It’s late, you’re screaming, the people next door have small children, whatever. You win. Happy now? Fantastic. Fuck off, I’m going to bed.” He sweeps one corner of the duvet over his shoulder and stalks into his room, closing his door carefully behind him.

Mello’s chest heaves. His arms shake. His eyes water. Fuck the rule. Fuck that girl. Fuck  _ Matt _ , can’t he see that Mello’s  _ breaking _ ?

Just yesterday he had some semblance of control over himself. Just yesterday he thought he was starting to put the pieces back together. Just yesterday he...and Oliver...and Jack...and….

“Fuck,” Mello says, turning off the lights in the living room and stumbling through the darkness back to his room. He curls up in his sheets and lets his whole body shake, taking awful, ragged, gasping breaths.

Even with his eyes screwed shut, he sees her. Her long, silky hair. Her curled eyelashes. Her full lips. Her plump breasts and her soft curves that formed sweeping folds in Matt’s shirt. She was the very picture of femininity. 

Compared with her, Mello is an experiment in contrasts. His frizzy hair. His angular face. His thin lips. His broad shoulders. His flat chest. And now Mello knows how these experiments go.

She was Matt’s type.  _ She _ was what Matt really wanted. Mello never stood a chance.

The thought makes him dizzy. Oliver’s words circle in his head until his stomach roils. He clutches at his sheets.

Matt used him, he thinks. Matt used him, played with him, took advantage of his feelings, and when he was done, he brought it all crashing down with a too-visible reminder of everything Matt wants that Mello doesn’t have.

Humiliation and shame burn on Mello’s face. He feels awful. He feels angry. He feels  _ stupid _ . He knew when this whole thing started that it wasn’t going to end well, and he still let himself get carried away with his little fluttery feelings and his stupid hope. He knowingly put himself in a position where he could get hurt, and for that he has no one to blame but himself.

He turns over and slams his face into the pillow.

* * *

When Mello wakes up, all he can do is lie there and stare at the ceiling and let the regret wash over him. It comes in waves, memories from the past couple weeks swelling up, crashing into him, drenching him in shame and nausea.

Stupid. How could he have been so  _ stupid _ . He should have known better. No--he  _ did  _ know better, and he made his choices anyway. He sacrificed his better judgment to give in to his feelings, and this is all he has to show for it: puffy eyes, a bruised ego, and the knowledge that he’s made it  _ so much harder _ to make his friendship with Matt go back to normal.

He feels cold all over. No matter how much he bundles himself up in his covers, he still feels cold.

He doesn’t know if he’s mad at Matt or not. He’s mad at himself, and he’s disappointed in Matt, but he doesn’t know if he’s mad at him. He thinks he shouldn’t be. He knows how Matt is. Sometimes Matt just doesn’t think things through. Matt didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know the effect his actions had on Mello. He would never deliberately cause Mello pain.

And yet...Mello still...doesn’t know.

Mello rolls over on his side and curls his knees up to his chest, trying to warm up. It doesn’t work.

He’s finally roused out of bed by a soft scratching sound at his door. He pulls on a hoodie, a pair of old sweatpants, and some thick socks, and goes to see what it is.

It’s a sheet of paper, folded into quarters. Mello’s heart sinks.

He picks it up and unfolds it.

_ hey mel, _

_ can we talk? like for real talk, not whatever bullshit happened last night. because we both said some pretty awful shit. im sorry for all of it. really, im sorry. and i cant even remember the last time i was that angry. but i still stand by what i said. i wanna fix this. not just the stuff with the rule, the other stuff too. everything. i have stuff to say and i know you have stuff to say so can we please just talk. _

Mello rubs the back of his neck. Maybe he can just stay in his room forever.

Or maybe this talk won’t turn out so bad.

Mello grimaces at himself for having the thought. He doesn’t have anything to say to Matt, and he doesn’t want to hear anything Matt has to say. He doesn’t see whatever talk Matt wants to have turning out as anything but a total shitshow. But reasonably, there’s no way he can avoid it. He has to go out there sometime, and it might as well be now.

It’ll be fine, he convinces himself. He can stand to listen to what Matt has to say, and he’s no stranger to making up stories to placate Matt. Mello only has to make it through this one conversation. Then he’ll be able to take the time he needs to heal. Things will go back to normal.

Mello sighs and, still holding the note, heads into the living room. 

Matt’s in the kitchen, pouring milk into a bowl of cereal. He looks up when Mello walks in.

“Coffee?” he asks hesitantly.

“...Sure,” Mello replies. He goes to sit on the couch.

Matt pours two cups of coffee from the new coffee maker and brings them over to the coffee table. He puts one cup down in front of Mello and takes a sip of the other, then recoils. “Too hot,” he says, pursing his lips. He sits down next to Mello. “This new coffee maker makes really hot coffee.”

“Yeah.” Mello stares at his coffee, then at Matt. This feels weird, Mello thinks, familiar and foreign simultaneously, an unexpected return to an old routine. It’s abnormally normal. It makes him feel out of place.

They’re both quiet after that. Matt blows on his coffee, and Mello thinks. He’s still not sure if he’s mad at Matt, and it’s increasingly difficult to make a decision when having Matt so close to him triggers a new onslaught of conflicting emotions.

“You got my note,” Matt says after a while.

“Yeah,” Mello says.

“...Yeah.” Matt takes another tentative sip of his coffee and pulls back again. “Still too hot.”

They sit in silence. Mello tries his coffee. He doesn’t find it to be particularly hot. Then he takes a full sip and burns his tongue.  _ Should’ve known better _ , he thinks.

Matt sets his cereal down and draws his arms inward. “So….”

“So,” Mello echoes.

“So, is now a good time? To talk?”

Mello brings a hand up to rest between his neck and his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he says.

“I think we should.”

“Yeah.”

“So.”

“So.”

There’s another silence. Matt shifts a little in his seat and taps his fingers along the rim of his cup.

“I’m sorry I brought María over,” he says finally. “I know my apology last night wasn’t much. I was honestly just...well, I was...tired. So, real apology this time. I’m sorry. For all of it.”

_ All of what _ , Mello thinks, feeling a flash of hurt and anger. He’s going to have to end this quickly, if he’s already getting upset. “No,” he says. “I jumped on you over something I shouldn’t have. I...had a bad night at work.”

“No, really,” Matt says. “I realized this morning that it’s totally shitty of me to think breaking rules is okay as long as you’re not around to get mad at me for it.”

“That rule is unfair to you anyway.” 

“Yeah, but I still shouldn’t have….” Matt trails off. “Well,” he starts again, “I guess if we’re both...down to be over it?”

“Yeah,” Mello agrees, breathing an inward sigh of relief. Now hopefully Matt will stop talking about it. Maybe he’ll never bring it up again. That would be nice.

Then yet another silence descends upon them, a tense silence that never settles into being comfortable. Mello feels the awkwardness of his limbs as he sips his coffee slowly. It’s cooled down enough to be drinkable, but it still feels too hot against the burned spot of his tongue. 

Matt looks at him.

Mello looks away.

This talk isn’t going very well. But it’s okay, he thinks. As long as Matt doesn’t pull any more bullshit, this will be over, and Mello will be fine.

Eventually.

“I miss you,” Matt says suddenly, and Mello’s stomach drops. Great. So much for Matt not pulling any more bullshit.

He deals with it, just like he deals with everything Matt throws at him. “I’m right here,” he says, turning away a little.

“But you’re not, really,” Matt counters, shifting slightly toward Mello, “or, at least, you haven’t been. You’ve been gone a lot.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I know.” Matt pauses, then says, “But it feels like you’ve been avoiding me.” 

Mello deals. “Oh.”

“Have you been?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Matt stares at the coffee table, then briefly turns back to Mello. “Are you...are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” A moment of silence, then, “Mello?” Matt turns so his body faces Mello more. His right knee is close enough to Mello’s left knee that if either he or Mello twitched, they would brush against each other.

Mello tries not to think about it. He tries not to look at Matt. Even after all Matt’s put him through, even though just being near Matt right now hurts, a little traitorous part of his brain won’t stop reminding him that it would only take one small shift to his left to make contact. His knee, so close to Matt’s knee. His arm, so close to Matt’s arm. It wouldn’t take much.

He moves just slightly away. He takes another sip of his coffee.

“Mello,” Matt says again, “are you sure you’ve just been busy? Are you sure you haven’t been avoiding me?”

“Yes,” Mello says. “I’m sure. I’ve had a lot going on at work recently, and it’s been difficult to stay on top of everything. I know I’ve been bad at prioritizing our friendship, and I’m sorry for that. Just...give me some time. Things will be back to normal soon.” His words ring empty and hollow in the space between them. He hopes Matt doesn’t hear their echo.

“Normal, huh,” Matt says quietly.

Mello nods, looking down into his cup.

Matt purses his lips. “You’re sure?” he asks, one more time.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Matt drops his gaze. In the silence that follows, he looks everywhere but at Mello. Mello follows his gaze from the coffee table to the kitchen to the front door to the hallway. Matt’s staring into his coffee cup when he finally speaks again. “It just feels different, that’s all. This is the first time we’ve had coffee together in weeks.”

“I know,” Mello says. “I’m sorry.”

Matt nods slowly. “Well,” he says, each word carefully measured, “I hope you stop being busy soon.”

“Me too.”

Then it feels like the conversation is over. A heavy finality falls between them, though Mello senses that Matt still has things he wants to say. It’s better, he thinks, that Matt doesn’t say them. It’s better to keep things as they are now. He can deal with things as they are now.

Then Matt shifts, just a little. His knee brushes against Mello’s.

Mello reels back as though he’s been burned. His coffee sloshes past the rim of his cup and splashes onto his legs and the couch. He hears another splash and a sharp intake of breath. He looks at Matt. Matt’s staring at him with wide eyes and soaked jeans, his own mug dripping coffee onto his knee.

Matt looks shell-shocked for a second. Then his face crumples.

“Shit,” Mello starts, “I’m sor--”

Matt gets there first. “Mello, I’m sorry,” he says, and then he takes a deep breath, and Mello’s only got a second to realize what’s happening before the dam breaks and Matt overflows. “I’m sorry about last night. I knew I wasn’t supposed to bring anyone over, and I did anyway, and you had every right to be mad, and I shouldn’t have fought you about it. You’re right, I  _ was _ only sorry because I got caught, but now I’m sorry I did it at all. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s--” Mello starts, trying to stop Matt before this gets out of hand. Matt rolls right over him. It’s as though he didn’t even notice Mello speak.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you when I could have, any of the times that I could have. You’ve been gone, you’ve been avoiding me--and I  _ know  _ you’ve been avoiding me, even if you won’t admit it--but I could’ve called, or texted, or something, and I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry--shit--” his voice cracks a little, and Mello’s stomach drops, “I’m sorry about your birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t think. I’m sorry I  _ never _ think.”

_ What _ ? “Matt, I-” Mello manages, grasping at thoughts, trying to slow Matt down so he can process what Matt just said, before Matt steamrolls him again.

“No, don’t- don’t. Mello. I’m sorry I led you on. It wasn't fair to you. I’m sorry I still don’t know how I feel about you. I’m sorry I was jealous of T-Pain. I’m...I’m sorry I waited to tell you all this until now, when I know it’s too late for...well, it's too late.”

_ It’s too late _ .

Mello doesn’t speak for a second, because Matt’s mouth is still half-open and Mello’s afraid that if he tries to say anything, Matt will pour out more of these apologies that really sound more like confessions, and Mello doesn’t think he can handle that. He doesn’t think he can handle all the things Matt’s already said. His stomach churns, and his mind races, and Matt’s stopped talking entirely but Mello still feels like he’s struggling to keep pace with him. It’s a near-impossibly difficult task, when Mello’s whole mind is occupied with the feeling of abrupt loss. Matt’s dragged their friendship past the point of no return without giving Mello even a full second of warning.

He should have known, he thinks, that the conversation wouldn’t end where he wanted it to. He should have anticipated that Matt wouldn’t let him end their important talk so easily. He should have known, and to an extent he did know, but he wanted to believe he could escape from this unscathed. He wanted to believe Matt would let him heal.

_ I’m sorry I led you on _ , Matt said.

Mello  _ is _ mad at Matt, he realizes suddenly. He’s  _ furious _ . Matt used him. Matt lit him up and drew him in, then dropped him on the pavement and ground him under the heel of his shoe--and worse,  _ he knows he did it _ . Worse still, now he’s refusing to give Mello the space he needs to deal with it. Matt wants their friendship to go back to normal, but he can’t be bothered to leave Mello alone long enough to make that happen. Instead, he seems intent on sabotaging everything Mello’s worked so hard to maintain. 

And Mello misses Matt. He misses their friendship. He aches for it so profoundly he can feel it in his bones, and he wishes he could erase all his feelings, or these past few weeks, or even just this  _ goddamn conversation _ , to give himself a chance at making their friendship go back to the way it’s always been. But Matt’s right. It’s too late. Thanks to Matt, they can no longer go back to the way they’ve always been.

“I’m sorry I said all that,” Matt says quietly, looking down at his coffee-splattered jeans. “I know that's a lot to hear, all at once. I just want to make things right.” 

That's rich, Mello thinks, that Matt wants to make things right. Matt’s the one making everything wrong. “Right  _ how _ , exactly?”

Matt glances up at Mello, looking thrown by his tone of voice, then sighs weakly and hangs his head. “I don't know,” he says. “Honest, I guess? I guess I thought if I owned up to everything, things would get better.” He looks back up at Mello, tentatively, guiltily. “I thought wrong, huh.”

_ Yeah _ , Mello thinks, because it's true. He didn't want to hear any of that. He didn’t want to hear, straight from Matt’s mouth, that Matt thinks he can blindly throw his feelings around and have everything magically be okay. It's crushing how he doesn't realize that the reason things between them continue to be fine is that Mello  _ makes _ them fine. Matt has no idea that the careless words and actions that make him feel better just make life more complicated for Mello. 

And Mello’s sick of Matt making his life more complicated. He's sick of always working around Matt’s feelings, adjusting his own life to fit Matt’s needs, pretending that all the little things Matt does that fuck him over are no big deal. He's sick to death of keeping himself in check when it's becoming increasingly clear that Matt won't do the same.

_ I’m sorry I led you on _ , he said.  _ It’s too late _ , he said. Well, fuck him. It wouldn’t have been too late if Matt hadn’t dragged Mello into this conversation, if he hadn’t dumped all his feelings right in Mello’s lap, if he hadn’t thought that every tiny little spark of self-awareness was worth voicing. Matt could have kept all that shit to himself, and it wouldn’t have been too late.

So Mello thinks about letting himself go. He considers doing what Matt just did, and letting every thought and emotion and accusation that crosses his mind fly from his mouth with no filter and no regard for anyone’s feelings but his own. He doesn’t do it, though, because the mere thought makes his heart pound in his throat and sends a cold, tight coil of tension down his spine.

Instead, he grits his teeth and says, “I don't think it's that simple.”

“I know,” Matt says, setting his still-dripping coffee cup on the coffee table. “I shouldn't have gone off like that. I just...it was building, for a while, and I wanted to talk, and you weren't giving me anything, and I thought you deserved to know, you know?”

“Oh, did I? Is that what I deserved?” Mello puts his own cup down.

“Mello, I don't want to fight.”

“I'm not fighting you.”

Matt crosses his arms and hunches over, looking wounded. “Is it...is it that bad that I wanted you to know? You're my best friend. I don't want to keep things from you.”

“It's not that simple,” Mello says again, bitter that Matt has the privilege of thinking best friends shouldn’t keep secrets from one another.

Matt nods slowly and goes quiet for a while. Then he looks up and says, “Why?”

“What?”

“Why isn't it simple? I mean, why can't it be?”

Mello heaves a deep sigh. Matt doesn't understand. “Because,” he says slowly, as though he's talking to a child, “you have to think of the effect your words and actions have on other people.”

Matt’s eyes flash with indignation and confusion. “Don't patronize me,” he says. “Mello, what’s wrong with you? Why are you being so condescending?”

Mello loses it. “Because,” he snaps, “you don't seem to understand that you haven't done anything to make things better between us. All you've done is dump all your shit on me, so that I can deal with it. I don't want to be responsible for your feelings.”

Matt's brow furrows. “What?” he says. “I'm not asking you to be responsible for my feelings.”

“Yes. You are.” He just doesn't realize it.

“No, I'm not,” Matt counters, raising his voice. “My feelings are my feelings. I thought you should know what they were, but you don't have to do anything about them if you don't want to.”

Mello scoffs.

“I'm an adult, Mello,” Matt says. “I can handle my own feelings.”

“Sure, Matt.”

“What? You think I can't?” Matt sounds angry and hurt, and Mello doesn't care.

“What am I supposed to think? After the last few weeks, what am I supposed to think?”

“I just said I'm sorry for all that!” Matt's one step away from yelling.

Mello beats him to it. “That's not ‘handling your own feelings,’ Matt!” he shouts. “That's throwing them all over the place for other people to clean up.”

“Throwing- that's not what I- well, what should I have done, then?” Matt's yelling now, too. “Should I have kept everything in and stewed in it like  _ you  _ do?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“What's that supposed to  _ mean _ ? Mello, you've been avoiding me for  _ weeks _ , and you won't tell me why. You still haven't even admitted that you've been avoiding me! And now I'm trying to talk to you about it, I’m just trying to  _ talk _ , and all you're doing is fighting me. All of today, all of last night, you’re just fighting me.”

“Of course I’m fighting you!” Mello shouts. “What else am I supposed to do, when you keep screwing things up for me?”

“Screwing things- how? Tell me--how is any of this screwing things up for  _ you _ ?” Matt’s practically screaming now, and his voice shakes on the word  _ you _ . He glares at Mello and takes a breath to continue speaking.

Mello tries to stop him. “You’re pushing all your shit on me-”

Matt plows over him. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel-”

Mello continues, shouting even louder to try and drown Matt out, “-and you’re forcing  _ me _ to deal with all of this, just like you always do-”

“-and you’re being the biggest dick about it, and I don’t understand why-”

“-you just can’t make anything easy on me, can you-”

“-and I’m sorry if I hurt you, but making me feel like shit isn’t going to undo that-”

“-you always have to make it as hard as possible-”

“-and the worst part is that you won’t even tell me what I did-”

“-I keep trying to fix things-”

“-I’m trying to fix things-”

“-I try  _ so hard _ , all the time, and you  _ never _ notice-”

“-and I just feel like you’re not even  _ trying _ -”

“-and all I wanted was to make things between us go back to normal and you _ won’t let me _ !”

Matt shuts up, stunned. Mello feels a spark of pride at getting in the last word.

It doesn’t last long. Matt’s expression curls into bitter confusion. “Normal?” he asks, still kind of shouting. Then he drops his voice. “Tell me,” he continues quietly, “just what part of the way you’ve been acting recently has been  _ normal _ .”

Mello feels flames lick at his insides. Of  _ course _ Matt doesn’t see the effort behind Mello’s actions--he’s  _ never _ seen it. “All I wanted,” Mello says, “was to give you what you wanted.”

Matt looks even more lost, even more bitter. “What  _ I _ wanted?”

Mello nods. “You didn’t want things to change between us,” he says, voice mocking and ugly. “You didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Matt looks bewildered, then enlightened, then contemptuous. “So what is all this shit you’ve been doing, then?” he asks derisively. “Because I definitely interpreted it as a change.”

“Shut up!” Mello’s shouting again. “I had to, okay? I needed space, if I was going to make things go back to normal!”

“You keep saying that,” Matt replies, raising his voice again as well. “But I don’t have any idea what you mean. Did you ever care to let me in on your stupid scheme? Did you ever think that disappearing for weeks on end was maybe not the perfect way to let me know everything was all right? That maybe it wasn’t ‘normal’? What is ‘normal’ to you, anyway? And Mello, did you ever even stop to consider the fact that maybe what I wanted wasn’t  _ normalcy _ ? That maybe I just wanted my fucking  _ best friend to talk to me _ ?”

Mello’s feeling ready to yell again. “I wanted that too, but-”

Matt doesn’t even let him start. “Because guess what, Mello?” he says, and Mello finds himself closing his mouth in the face of Matt’s tone. “Things aren’t ‘normal’! They haven’t been for a while. And I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think you and I are going back to ‘normal’ ever again.”

Now it’s Mello’s turn to sit in stunned silence. His anger is blunted by Matt’s words.  _ So Matt feels it too _ , he thinks, pulling his left wrist into his right hand so he can squeeze away some of the tension that’s wound tightly inside him. 

Matt continues, “But I don’t care. I don’t  _ want _ to go back to ‘normal,’ whatever that is, and I don’t want you peacing out the way you have been in some weird attempt to make that happen.” He takes a breath. “I don’t give a shit if things change, Mello. But I  _ do _ give a shit if you’re...pulling all this shit you’ve been pulling and refusing to talk to me and blowing up when I try to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Mello says, swallowing thickly. His anger starts to recede as he takes this new development in. A little something starts to build in the back of his mind. He’s never fought like this with Matt before. He and Matt don’t fight--it’s not how they are with each other. And yet, ever since last night, Mello’s been shouting every time he gets the chance.

“I don't know how you thought this would help,” Matt pushes on, bolstered by Mello’s silence. “I don't know how you thought it would solve whatever problems you have with me. I don't even know what those problems are. I'm just stuck guessing my way through this shit. And first I thought it was because you were upset that I was experimenting with you, and then I thought it was because you had feelings for me that I didn't return, and now I don't know what it is and I never will if you don't tell me!”

Mello stays silent, finally allowing himself to begin to process everything Matt has said. There are still things that prod at him and make him angry, but now that his curling, twisting, blinding rage is gone, rational thought finally begins to come back. Mello realizes that he’s just blown up at Matt for apologizing for doing exactly the things Mello’s angry with him for. Matt’s been thinking--really thinking--about the situation, and about their friendship, and about Mello. Guilt twists in Mello’s gut. He shouldn’t have accused Matt of being inconsiderate. Matt’s making more of an effort than Mello wanted to realize.

If Mello’s honest with himself, Matt’s efforts make far more sense than Mello’s do--from Matt’s perspective, at least. It’s logical to think speaking openly about your feelings will solve problems. But Mello’s feelings are the problem. Mello feels hurt, and used, and discarded. He feels exploited for the sake of Matt’s curiosity. He felt so betrayed at seeing María that he  _ cried _ . But he can’t tell Matt these things. He’d have to tell Matt about his crush. And then, in the wake of everything that’s happened over the past few weeks, he’d look pathetic. He’d look  _ fragile _ . He can’t look fragile in front of Matt--it would break their dynamic too much. Matt says he’s okay with changes, but he can’t possibly want to change the fundamental way he views Mello.

Mello’s thoughts are broken by the sound of Matt clearing his throat. He looks up. Matt’s gone quiet and is staring at him with a tight-lipped expression. “So?” Matt asks.

“So,” Mello says.

“So are you going to tell me why you don't want to be around me?”

_ No _ , Mello thinks.  _ I can’t _ . He has to--he knows he has to, because by this point it’s the only way forward, but he just  _ can’t _ . All through their friendship, Mello’s been the rock. He’s supported Matt through all Matt’s hardships, and he’s borne his own with silent, solitary resilience. To suddenly be so weak, after nearly a decade of unfailing strength, will shake their relationship to its very core. Matt won’t know what to think of him anymore.

His conflict must show on his face, because something softens in Matt's eyes. “Mello,” he says. “Look. If I’ve done something to upset you, I want to know. If I don't know, I can't change anything.” He hesitates. “I'm sorry I just blew up like that, I shouldn't have yelled at you--”

“No, I'm sorry,” Mello says, relieved that the pressure on him has eased for the moment. “I started it, you just wanted to talk--”

“And you clearly didn't, and I don't want to pressure you into talking if you don't want to, or if you're not ready, and if you want to take some time to cool off and think, I get it. We don't have to talk now, especially if we’re just going to end up yelling at each other again.” He pauses, then says, “Maybe trying to talk so soon after last night wasn't a good idea.”

Mello thinks about that. It's tempting to call the rest of this talk off and push it back to another time, maybe another day, maybe another week.

“We are both covered in coffee, after all,” Matt points out. “I'm sure you want to change.”

Mello becomes uncomfortably aware of the cold wetness seeping through the crotch and thighs of his sweatpants, and the sour smell of stale coffee that hovers over the entire couch. He does want to change, and also take a shower. But something tells him to wait. 

“Really, Mello, I don't mind,” Matt says. “I don't want to keep fighting. I just want your word that you'll tell me what's been bothering you when you're ready.”

Mello takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I do want to talk,” he says, though he doesn’t think it’s true and he’s not sure how he’s going to. “I shouldn't have snapped at you for your...apology. It was just--” Mello scrambles for an appropriate way to phrase what he wants to say, “--a lot to process.”

Matt nods. “I know,” he says. “I'm sorry.”

“No, don't be,” Mello says. “I'm just….”

“You're just?”

“Still kind of turning everything over in my head.”

“I see.”

For a long time, Mello sits and thinks. He’s committed himself to talking, now, and he’s certain he’s a moron for it. Matt really hurt him, hit him right in the soft spots of his psyche that he hates to admit exist, even to himself. Mello’s hurting,  _ so much _ , over things that, to Matt, were nothing.  _ Anytime, dude. I like the ponytail. I don’t want to change our friendship. I didn’t know if you’d be coming home tonight _ . Matt’s going to think he can’t act the way he wants around Mello. Matt’s going to start second-guessing his words, his actions, his entire way of being with Mello. Mello doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Matt to feel like he has to be  _ careful _ with Mello. Their friendship will suffer from an awkward tension that will be unbearable compared with the easy, carefree dynamic they’ve always had before.

But Mello  _ has _ to talk. He just said he would. He’s an idiot. He can’t. But he has to. But he  _ can’t _ .

“Mello,” Matt murmurs.

Mello looks up at Matt, feeling caught.

Matt looks back at Mello, open concern on his face. “You know that you can tell me anything, right?”

Mello looks away.

“And if something that I’ve done has upset you or hurt you,” Matt continues, speaking softly, “then I want to know.”

Mello lets out a breath. He knows Matt doesn’t mean that. Matt doesn’t know what he’s asking. Still, he feels a knot in his stomach start to loosen against his will.

“Mello,” Matt says, tone insistent but still soft. “I mean it. I want you to tell me if I've screwed something up. Please don't bottle it up.”

Mello stays quiet. The same little something he felt earlier, in the back of his mind, begins to articulate itself into something like a thought. 

Matt nudges Mello lightly. Despite himself, Mello leans into the contact. “Hey,” Matt says. “I know you like to keep your problems to yourself and deal with things your own way.”

Mello fidgets, that something building more and more.

“But you can’t do it with this, okay? Not when it's about me. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Mello fidgets more. Matt doesn’t really want to know.

Matt puts a tentative hand on Mello’s wrist. “I wanna be there for you, Mel,” he says. “Whatever's going on, I wanna fix it. Please don't shut me out. Let me help.”

Mello purses his lips, still conflicted. He looks back up at Matt. He draws in a breath.

Matt meets his eyes. “You don't have to do everything on your own,” he says, and Mello feels suddenly naked under his gaze. “You don't have to, and I don't want you to. I know you like to act like things don't hurt you. But it's okay to need support sometimes. I want you to know that I'm here for you. And don't worry about my feelings--they aren’t your responsibility. I'm here, and I'm ready to hear what you have to say.”

Something clicks.  _ Oh _ . Mello lets his breath out. All at once, he feels as though the tension stringing his shoulders together has eased. He relaxes into himself, the numbing glow of realization sinking into his bones. Matt’s here. Matt’s invested. Matt’s carried this whole conversation with patience and grace while Mello’s tried his hardest to derail it. Mello was wrong to think it was Matt he should be worried about.

Matt’s steadier than Mello could ever hope to be. He’s not going to falter if Mello admits weakness. If their friendship crumbles after this, it will not be because Matt couldn't handle the new dynamic. It will be because Mello couldn't.

All this time, through this whole ordeal, Mello hasn't been protecting his friendship with Matt. He's only been protecting himself.

Matt knocks him out of his thoughts with another gentle nudge. “Mello? You okay? I didn’t mean to say anything weird-”

“You did lead me on,” Mello says over him, pushing the words out quickly so he doesn’t have the time to decide to take them back.

Matt blinks. “Come again?”

“You did lead me on,” Mello repeats, more slowly this time. The words hang in the still silence that ensues. Mello looks away.

Then Matt sighs, a soft, sad exhale. “I know,” he says. “I'm sorry. I never meant to.”

Mello lets the hurt out. “But you did,” he says, and his voice sounds so small that he almost doesn't believe it's his own. 

“I'm sorry,” Matt says again. “I am. None of what I did was fair to you.”

Mello feels the admission tingle like a salve on his emotional sore spots. Throughout this whole ordeal, he’s known, very consciously, that Matt was being unfair to him. But it's one thing to know it himself, and an entirely different thing to hear it from Matt.

The feeling drives him forward. “In the beginning,” he says, because it’s the only place he can think to start, “when you first kissed me, I felt…” and he tries to find a way to pare his emotions down into simple, short-term words that don’t give away his years of feeling, and the best he comes up with is, “confused. About a lot of things. But also,” he closes his eyes and hopes this doesn’t come across as incriminating as he thinks it sounds, “hopeful. But I didn’t know what to think about any of it, and you didn’t give me anything to go on. You’d always said you were straight, and you never gave me any reason to think you weren’t until you kissed me. And then you kissed me again, but you just got up and left without giving me any clue what you were thinking. You seemed to...ignore it, and act like it didn’t mean anything, and I didn’t understand why or what was going on, and I didn’t want to bring it up because- because….” He lets the  _ because _ trail off. He doesn’t really want to go into  _ because _ right now.

Matt nods but doesn’t respond.

“And so I thought that was it. We were just going back to normal, and acting like you didn’t kiss me out of nowhere...twice.” Mello rubs at the back of his neck, his stomach fluttering and his skin tingling. “I couldn’t do that, though. Being around you felt like being a teenager with a stupid crush. I was afraid I’d say something you didn’t want me to say. I was afraid that would ruin our friendship. So I stayed away for a while. I wasn’t trying to avoid you, really. I was trying to get a handle on my feelings so I could be around you without acting like an idiot.

“And then,” Mello continues, “my birthday.”

Matt grimaces. “Right,” he says.

“I thought I was going to be okay. I thought I had everything under control, and I was going to be fine, and we were going to start hanging out again, and we were going to go back to how we’ve always been. But Matt, the...I...you….” Mello finds himself grasping uselessly at words. He’s not good at this--talking about his feelings. “The song. The decorations. The time and effort that you clearly spent, the...the way being together just seemed right, how we just seemed to fit, it all really made me think that you….” The humiliation of his admission burns him. He can feel the red-hot sting in his cheeks, in his ears, traveling down his neck. He tries again. “I thought I didn’t have to control my feelings. I thought you felt the same way. And then you said you didn’t want things between us to change. 

“Except you were the one who changed things. That fucked me up, hearing those words come out of your mouth, because I spent so lo-” and he almost slips up, “so much effort trying to make sure things wouldn’t change, and then you made it sound like all this was my fault.”

“I didn’t mean to say it was your f-” Matt starts.

“No,” Mello says. “Let me finish.”

“Okay.”

“You kept pulling me in and then pushing me away. I only really realized what you were doing last night, when I saw  _ María _ .” The name snakes from his mouth. “It hurt, Matt. It really hurt. You used me to figure out your own feelings.”

Matt nods slowly, frowning to himself. “You’re right,” he says, and those words sting, “you’re right, Mello. That wasn’t how I saw it at the time, but looking back, that pretty much is exactly what I did. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

Matt looks at Mello with such an honest, earnest expression that Mello has to look away. “Well,” Mello says, trying to get Matt to stop making that face, “did you at least figure out anything useful?” 

Then Matt sighs. He runs a hand through his hair. He looks at his knees. “I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, yes, I did figure something out. I’m just not sure what it is yet. Sometimes it takes me a really long time to figure out how I’m feeling, and this is one of those times, you know?”

Mello looks back up at Matt, feeling confusion etch lines into his forehead. “Uh. No.”

Matt chews his lip. “Well,” he says, “I’m still- I don’t know if- I’m pretty sure  _ now _ that I- but- hm.” He stops, regroups, and begins again. “On your birthday,” he says. “When you were about to kiss me and I didn’t let you. It wasn’t that I  _ didn’t _ want you to kiss me. I didn’t  _ know _ if I wanted you to kiss me or not. It felt like a really romantic moment, and I thought that if we kissed, it would be a really romantic thing and I didn’t know if I wanted that because I didn’t know if I saw you that way. And it’s hard to go back on something like that--you know, to have that one moment and then have to say ‘never mind, I didn’t mean it.’ That’s why I said I didn’t want things to change. I didn’t want to start something I wasn’t sure I could follow through with.”

“Oh,” Mello says, thoughts knocked a little askew by Matt’s explanation. “So, you were trying to figure out how you felt...about me.”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “And I still- well, no.” He pauses for a few seconds, poised to speak the whole time. Finally, he resumes. “Now that everything’s said and done, I’m starting to think that maybe I do like you romantically. And I’m sorry for that.”

“What?” All of a sudden, Mello feels completely disoriented.  _ But last night...but Friday...but Oliver…. _ For the second time in a single sitting, Mello feels as though Matt’s clipped ahead of him, leaving Mello struggling to catch up.

“But like I said, my feelings are my responsibility. I can’t say they’ll have no effect on our friendship going forward, but I’ll leave them out of it as much as I can.”

“Your feel-  _ oh _ .” Mello descends into himself without warning, feeling as though his mind has been in free-fall and has suddenly crash-landed at its destination. It dazes him for a second. “You like me.”

Matt nods. “Probably, yeah.”

Mello responds, still feeling dazed. “I like you.” That much should be obvious by now. He’s waited so long to say it that he can’t stop himself from saying it anyway.

“You do?” Matt asks. “Still?”

Mello gapes. “ _ Still _ ?”

Matt gapes right back. “I just thought- you know, I thought that- that after everything, all the things that have happened these past couple weeks, and your birthday, and then Friday night, T-Pain--or at least, I think it’s T-Pain, I guess I never really knew for sure--I thought that meant you didn’t….” He trails off. Then his eyes go wide. “Oh,” he says. 

“Oh?”

“The whole...the...everything. The whole everything.” Matt winces. “Last night.”

Mello’s jaw clenches. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Matt says again. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re also an idiot.”

Mello’s gaze drops to his knees. “...Yeah.”

Matt smiles a little tentative smile. “So,” he says, “you like me.” 

Mello smiles back. “You like me.” His heart starts to speed up. His stomach starts to flutter. He can feel a flush rising high in his cheekbones. The lights in the apartment seem somehow brighter and warmer.

Matt looks at Mello. Then he looks away. He runs a hand through his hair, and Mello can see, more clearly than he could last night, the errors in Matt’s recent dye job. A large blotch of his scalp is dyed red. Some of his roots didn’t get covered all the way. There’s a small patch of faded-red hair that doesn’t look like it got re-dyed. Matt can’t do his hair without Mello. Matt  _ needs _ Mello. Mello needs Matt. And now...now….

Mello takes in a breath.

Matt looks back at Mello. His smile falls. “I don’t want to start anything,” he says.

Mello lets his breath out. “Oh,” he says. The lightbulbs dim back to their usual 60 watts.

“I’d just...I like us as friends. I’m a little afraid of starting anything else right now. I don’t want to screw anything up. I think it’s great that we like each other. But...I think I need time for my feelings to settle. I’m still not entirely sure what I feel, or...um...what I am.”

“Okay,” Mello says, the rush of his and Matt’s confessions subsiding and relaxing into logical contemplation. If he thinks about it, “I agree. I also wouldn’t want to rush into anything. Especially not after...this.”

Matt nods. His gaze flickers first to the left, then to the right. He shifts in his seat. “Also,” he says, voice halting and hesitant.

“Also?”

Matt purses his lips. He looks at his knees, at the coffee table, at the coffee stain drying on the couch between him and Mello. He does not look at Mello. “I, um. Asked María out.”

The room stills. “Oh.”

Matt knots his fingers together, still not looking at Mello. “Yeah,” he says. “I like her. And maybe something will come of it, maybe nothing will, but I do want to see where this goes.”

Mello lets that sink in. His chest feels tight. It aches that Matt likes Mello but is choosing to be with someone else, even if only for a while. But something feels off. Something isn’t adding up. Mello thinks he should feel devastated, or crushed, or at least broken. He keeps waiting for those feelings to descend upon him and wrench him apart. 

Instead, the hurt he feels is dulled, blunted. He looks at Matt, still expecting to see a torturer, or a traitor, or a movie villain. But all he sees is his best friend, twisting his fingers together so hard his knuckles are turning white, nervously refusing to meet Mello’s eyes. Warmth and fondness and  _ safety _ overtake the hurt. Mello was so scared, for so long, that confessing his feelings for Matt would ruin their friendship. Mello’s not going to let himself ruin it over Matt confessing his feelings for someone else. Their bond is too strong for that.

But a cold, twisting  _ thing _ still churns in his stomach. Mello tries to fight it down. “Okay,” he says.

Matt finally looks up. “Okay?” he asks.

Mello loses his fight, and the guilt seeps in. Too-vivid memories of his fight with Matt last night echo in his mind.  _ You tossed that bitch out _ , he said.  _ Are you ever going to see her again? _ he said. He closes his eyes as though that will block his memory of Matt’s face when he heard Mello say those words. 

“Mello?” Matt asks, looking at Mello warily.

Mello drops his gaze to Matt’s knees. “I’m sorry for saying all that stuff last night,” he says. “I was hurt, and angry, and I wanted to hurt you. I didn’t really mean any of it.”

Matt makes a little confused sound. “Oh,” he says, and doesn’t say anything more for a long time. Finally, he takes in a breath and says, “It’s...okay. I understand. I wouldn’t have been happy if you’d brought T-Pain over here.” He purses his lips. “And I can’t really say I took it well, either. Friday night, I mean.”

“Oh,” Mello says. He wants to ask Matt what he means by that, but he doesn’t. They can talk about it later. Instead, he gestures to the wet spots on his and Matt’s legs. “Also, sorry for...this. All of this.” He hopes Matt understands that he doesn’t just mean the spilled coffee.

Matt nods. “Don’t worry about it,” he says.

“I won’t...this won’t happen again.”

“Okay,” Matt says. He looks like he wants to say something else, but stops himself. Then he looks down at his legs. “This is very uncomfortable,” he says.

“Yeah,” Mello agrees.

“Good stopping point?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.” Matt stands. He stretches his arms out in front of him, then over his head. “You can have the first shower,” he says. “I’ll try and salvage the couch.”

“You sure?” Mello asks, standing in turn.

Matt shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve cleaned anything in this apartment in, like, a month. Can’t let you do all the work.”

“Yeah, but…”  _ This is my fault _ , Mello thinks.

Matt grins. “Come on, Mello,” he says. “Let me help out.”

Mello pauses, then nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll be quick.”

“Cool,” Matt says.

As Mello walks down the hall, Matt calls after him, “Hey, wanna do something today? Go get drinks, or see a movie, or something?”

Mello hesitates. He’d love to hang out with Matt, and he feels like he should, after all the time he’s spent deliberately staying away from him. But he has thoughts and feelings rattling around inside him that he doesn’t think he can process with Matt around. “I...um….”

Mello expects Matt’s response to be cold and clipped and tinged with disappointment and accusation. Instead, when Matt’s voice comes again, it’s warm. “It’s okay if you need time,” he says. “I get it.”

Mello’s stomach flutters. “Oh,” he says. “I...sorry. I do need time.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “Well, I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

“Um,” Mello says, heart jumping into his throat, “well, I, uh...um….”

Matt chuckles. “Go take your shower,” he urges. “I wanna take mine sometime today.”

“I- well- okay.” Mello lets the conversation end at that, his chest filling with an odd mix of confusion and comfort.

* * *

_ Monday, December 19, 2011 _

Mello’s phone alarm goes off at 6:30, playing soft, serene music right next to his ear. He chose the song as his early alarm tone because it wakes him up just fine but can’t be heard past his bedroom door. It’s been a lifesaver recently, allowing him to get up and get to the gym without waking Matt up. He’s been getting in a lot of early morning workouts in the past couple weeks.

Today, though, he turns it off. He sleeps until his late alarm goes off at 7:45, then heads for the shower. It feels a little odd. He hasn’t had a weekday shower at home in a while. He hasn’t had this weekday morning routine in a while. It’s a little difficult to fall back into it.

He shakes off that train of thought when, as he’s toweling off, he smells coffee. He runs the towel through his hair a few times and decides to let it air dry. His heart is beating fast, though he doesn’t know why. He dresses quickly, then heads down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Matt’s at the counter by the coffee maker, pouring coffee into the first of two mugs.

“Hey,” Mello says, a little awkwardly.

Matt looks up and beams. “Hey,” he says. He gestures toward the mugs. “I heard the shower.” He sounds so happy.

Mello’s heart leaps into his throat. “Yeah,” he says.

Matt hands him a coffee. “Happy Monday.”

Mello takes it. “Yeah. Happy Monday.”

They stand next to each other in comfortable silence. Matt leans on the counter and scrolls through something on his phone. Mello watches Matt and sips his coffee. It tastes better on weekday mornings.

Matt looks up from his phone. “Hey, Mello?”

“Hm?”

“I really missed this.”

Mello looks down into his cup. “I missed this, too.”

Matt nudges him lightly, careful not to bump him too hard. “I missed  _ you _ .”

Mello turns to look at him. Matt’s smiling, a big, warm, disarmingly fond smile, and Mello’s chest aches with emotion. He tries to say something in response, but his mind blanks out.

Matt catches his expression. His face falls. “Sorry,” he says. “Too flirty?”

Mello tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck. “A...little,” he says, looking away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Matt says. “It was my bad. I’ll dial it back.”

This is new, and different, and interesting, and Mello isn’t quite sure how to handle it. He settles on mumbling a quick, “Okay,” and taking a long sip of his coffee. 

A moment passes. Then Matt says, “Hey, sometime tonight or tomorrow, can you help me with my hair? I tried to do it myself on Saturday, but it didn’t work out too well.”

“I noticed,” Mello says. “I was looking for the right time to bring it up.”

Matt scoffs. “Asshole.”

“What? Your hair sucks, you just admitted it.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The counter buzzes. Matt turns back to his phone. His lips quirk upward, and his cheeks turn light pink, and for a moment Mello feels like everything has come to a grinding halt. Then the world starts up again, as quickly as it stopped, and Mello is still standing in the kitchen. Matt is still standing beside him. It doesn’t feel normal, but it doesn’t have to. “Normal” is a thing of the past. What comes next is up to them--both of them--as they move forward together into their future.

Mello can live with that.

The counter buzzes again, this time with the long rattles of a call. Mello looks to Matt’s phone, but it’s not the one buzzing.

Matt peers over at Mello’s phone. “Who is it?” he asks, looking at the number. It’s a 626 area code. Local.

“Not sure,” Mello says, though he’s seeing red. He deleted the contact years ago, but he still knows the number by heart.

He grabs his phone and heads down the hallway, only answering the call once he’s shut himself in his room.

“I told you not to call me.”

“I guess Matt didn’t pass along my message,” comes Near’s droning voice from the speaker. “Interesting, but not surprising. He didn’t sound like he was doing well when we spoke. How are you two? I worry sometimes.”

Mello grits his teeth. He regrets picking up.

“Hm,” Near adds in the absence of a reply. “In any case, directly contacting you was a last resort, trust me. Are you still working those awful hours? I imagine not, if you picked up the phone.”

“Near. What do you want?”

Mello swears he can hear Near’s face contort into a self-satisfied smirk. “Well, Mello,” he says. “I’m glad you asked.”


End file.
